Memento Mori
by dreamingofthedesert
Summary: When Walt returns to the compound to kill Jack and his crew, he quickly ends up forced to fight for survival with the last person he expected to see alive: Jesse.
1. Chapter 1

This…what is happening right now, Walt thought, was never supposed to be part of this ending. This ending that was planned out meticulously and had been, to this very juncture, executed so perfectly by him. When speaking with Skylar, Walt had achieved more than he imagined. He spoke the truth to her about his motivations and she listened; she may not have accepted his true motivations, but she listened. Every difficult piece of this puzzle had been laid, so why now was Walt faced with this?

When Walt had pulled into the compound, the Nazi brethren had not let him park his car in front of the clubhouse as he planned. He managed to park it in a location with only a small chance of the M60 laying its eyes on the clubhouse, but Walt knew the physics. It would only hit a corner of the room. When he was ushered in, the men never gave him back his keys. He would need to engineer a way to steal them back in order to trigger the M60. He very likely was not leaving this compound alive, but Walt had known that. He wanted to be the one in control of his fate, and the fate of these men, in their final, dismal moments.

But it wasn't his death that was overwhelming Walt at this moment; dying had always been his endgame. No, it was the sight laid bare before him that had hit him in the gut. There was something that he hadn't accounted for, a calculation he never made whose sum was greater than death. A wave of nausea hit him and his legs momentarily swayed.

Jack said, grinning devilishly and fiendishly eyeing Walt, "Does this look like a 50/50 partner to you?"

Walt's eyes darted over the sight of Jesse in front of him as he was dragged in by black cord wound tightly around his wrists. He could see it had been there for some time and there was putrid, yellowing-redness around the outer edges of the cord. His hair was long and scraggly, and hanging in his eyes. There was an undeniably unclean odour emanating from him but Walt could not place its mixture. The grey t-shirt he wore was full of perspiration and thickened with dirt and grime. The jeans he wore may have been a middling blue hue at some point, but not now.

Todd placed his hand on Jesse's shoulder and forced him to his knees. Jesse buckled languidly, not even raising his eyes to see what or who stood before him. He slumped down on his arms and legs, head hanging low. Calmly, and with the look a child might give his pet dog, Todd lifted his hand to pet Jesse's head. Walt caught his breath in his throat, shocked. This was not an eventuality he planned for.

"You were supposed to kill him," Walt stated in low, shaky growl. Rage was boiling over in him.

"You knew we were takin' him to help with our cooks." Jack said with a twang.

Feelings of shame and guilt washed over Walt and nearly knocked him over. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily to draw strength. What was this he saw before him? This couldn't possibly be reality. He had come so far in this journey. He had made penance for this sins. Suddenly, he had never wished more that he had shot Jesse in the head at To'hajiilee. That was something his mind had wandered toward aimlessly as he stewed in his cabin in New Hampshire. Why could he never kill Jesse by his own hand? How cowardly he was in those final moments, Walt had thought, to tear Jesse's heart out with the truth of Jane's demise instead of putting a cold barrel to his head and pulling the trigger. Jesse's treachery was unforgivable and there was no doubt in Walt's mind that if the ninth circle of Hell did exist, Jesse would be there, frozen, for all eternity. But he knew death was merely to 'enter the void' and that this corporal existence was all there was, and so he had chosen to punish Jesse instead of end his suffering.

Walt began to seethe with rage and it was rage born from the guilt and the shame bubbling inside him.

"What's a-matter Walt, you look like you've seen…a ghost?" Jack snidely interjected.

At the sound of his name, Walt saw Jesse's head turn upward momentarily. His icy blue eyes stole a look squarely at him, transfixed for mere seconds before he bowed his head down to his hands. Being a self-interested man, Walt had never become intimately acquainted with Jesse's body language. He could fathom nothing of use to himself from looking in his eyes. Instead, rage continued to rise in Walt. Why was the boy prostrate on the ground? The imbecile could give him more with which to work.

In that moment Walt heard a gun cock and he turned his head swiftly to see Jack pointing a pistol at his head. The man's slicked-back hair glistened in the clubhouse's lowlights as he snickered.

"Jack, Jack…there's, uh, there's no need for this…hostility. Let's dial it back and just talk." Walt stammered out.

"Your little, weasel-y ass ain't gunna talk yourself out of this situation, Walter. Sit your ass down over there." Jack motioned with the gun to the floor in front of the pool table.

A thought flashed in his mind: maybe they'll kill me tonight. They'll take my life and this situation will just…not be my responsibility any longer. Momentarily, he felt relieved in this selfish thought.

Walt slowly lowered himself to his behind in front of the pool table. As he sat he found he was now diagonal to where Jesse still laid prostrate on all fours cradling his head in his bound hands.

On the far wall, where the entrance to the clubhouse was located, Walt spied a very mundane key rack. His car keys now gingerly hung there, and must have been placed there when he was distracted by Jesse's entrance. Those keys were his only actionable enterprise.

"There's only one thing stopping me from blowing your brains out right this minute, Walt." Jack started. "And that's that I'm bored. I am gunna kill you, and this little pussy bitch."

Jack suddenly looked as though he would kick Jesse in the ribs but he didn't. He brought the tip of his boot lightly to his side and merely shoved Jesse, easily toppling him over. Jesse rolled over to his back and Walt could see his eyes were tightly shut with tears seeping through the edges, which was no surprise to him.

Jack looked at Walt and smiled. "Just not yet. You know, this bitch gives the best head this side of El Paso?"

A look of indignation tore over Walt's face and nausea bubbled.

"Doesn't that get yer old Linus humming there Walt?" Jack ribbed, pleased with himself. Todd laughed briefly, but didn't take his eyes of Jesse.

"That is revolting!" Walt spewed. The reality of the situation before him was beginning to reveal itself. A few of Jack's men had lit cigarettes and the smoke was beginning to fill the room. Walt coughed a pathetic wheeze of a cough and then sat back on hands. Jack still had his gun pointed in his direction.

"Whatever disgusting display of vanity you are toying with right now, you can save it. Alright?" Walt barked. "This…child means nothing to me."

Walt thought if he convinced Jack that further degradation of Jesse would be fruitless in eliciting some sort of dramatic response perhaps they'd either kill him or put him in a better position to grab his keys. Jesse lay there across from him motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Kenny, Todd – take these two back and lock them in the cell." Jack ordered. Kenny approached Walt with a pistol and Walt stood up of his own accord. Before Walt could make a grab for Kenny's gun, he was pistol-whipped hard to the back of his head and slumped down to the ground. Kenny dragged his limp body out of the room while Todd dragged Jesse to his feet. It seemed Jesse had long lost the will to fight against Todd.


	2. Chapter 2

Walt awoke on the floor after an hour of unconsciousness and looked around to survey his surroundings. The cell was a small, white cinder-block room with a tiny, barred window in the furthest corner. It had four built-in bunks, much like a jail cell, and it was filthy. It smelled faintly of urine, which was likely due to the tiny commode in the corner. All surfaces appeared to be covered in a thick layer of dirt and dust.

Walt sighed, admonishing himself again. If he had just killed Jesse in To'hajiilee, this would not be happening to him now. If he had just acted with some honour in that moment, maybe things could have ended differently. Walt stood up and slipped himself onto a bunk. He sighed again and looked to the pile of filth that was Jesse in the bunk across from him. The kid's back was turned to him, which was a small miracle.

After about five minutes, Walt rose and quietly walked to the small, barred window. He couldn't quite reach it, so he placed a foot onto the bunk where Jesse laid. He bounded upward from it and tried to grab a bar, only to miss and fall back with a thump against the wall. With a look of quiet embarrassment, he coughed and cleared his throat, and then straightened his shirt out before sitting back on his original bunk. Jesse barely stirred at the noise.

Sitting up and hunching over so his head wouldn't touch the top bunk, Walt pressed his hands together. "Jesse," he said quietly to no response.

He let out a long sigh. "Jesse!" He said more sternly, imploring him to respond.

An old, familiar feeling of annoyance grew in Walt. "For Godsakes' Jesse, stop…sulking, or whatever it is you are doing."

Jesse suddenly sunk onto his back and Walt could see his face – it was hollowed and distant. His eyes were not wet with tears as Walt had expected. He looked terribly thin, Walt noticed, and the black cord was still tied tightly around his wrists. Walt moved a hand towards him and Jesse flinched, moving back towards the wall.

"Oh…" Walt murmured. He looked on Jesse curiously. He hadn't anticipated any of this and then remembered Jack's words from inside the clubhouse room. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Suddenly Jesse spoke.

"Whatever you want from me, just take it. I don't…I don't really have anything left to give. But just take what you want." He quietly stammered.

"I don't understand," Walt said slowly. He inhaled, perplexed. Walt was an erudite man, but his knowledge of others and their feelings was always beset in his own desires. He saw others through a certain prism that distorted them, molding them for his own purposes.

Jesse closed his eyes, refusing to meet Walt's gaze. The moment became very still and quiet, and the urge to be tender overtook Walt momentarily. He quickly cast out that feeling and said, "This is the last thing I wanted or expected, okay? We're all supposed to be dead by now and you're not supposed to be…whatever it is you are…being right now."

Walt could see that something he said registered in Jesse in that moment. In low growl, he said "What's it to you, asswipe, what I'm being?"

Balking, Walt retorted "Nothing! Absolutely nothing. I could not care less." He scoffed for a moment or two longer, and then suddenly shook his head and rubbed his forehead. "Okay, okay – wait. No, we need to set aside our mutual hatred momentarily to figure out how to get ourselves out of this room."

"We're not getting out of here alive." Jesse said, in a low, flat voice Walt found haunting.

"I would rather die trying to get out of here than await whatever those twisted men have in store for me," Walter admitted, now pacing in the room.

"I've been trying to die for months," Jesse said in the same eerie voice. "I've tried…I've really tried but they won't let me."

Stunned, Walt turned around to look at Jesse. Pity clawed at him. "What are you saying?"

"I used a blanket and tried, you know, to…hang, or whatever. But they were watching me. They revived me."

Sadness creeped into Walt, but he quickly pushed it away. Was Jesse capable of doing anything correctly, he wondered. "You tried, and you failed, is that what you are saying?"

"You don't understand - you really don't understand." Jesse said wavering shakily as he still lay on the bunk.

"Enlighten me!" Walt barked, splaying his arms wide cartoonishly.

Suddenly, Jesse burst into tears and began shouting. "You don't know how many times I tried! You don't know!" He slowly sank off the bunk onto the floor. "Ten times! I counted it. Ten times, and every time I woke up." He sat on the floor sobbing, his head cradled in his bound hands.

Walt stared at him from the corners of his eyes unwilling to turn his body to fully face him. Walter had spent the past year in New Hampshire confronting the winter of his life. For a very long stretch of months he had accepted that he would die in New Hampshire alone having succumbed to his cancer. At first he felt it was a pathetic, anti-climactic fate but soon he yielded to it as a fate he deserved. When he began to recover from the chemotherapy, he began contemplating his vision of the journey to his death back in New Mexico. That was when he decided whom he would take with him to the void. Jesse had only been an afterthought at that time. If he was found to be alive here, in this compound, he would die like the rest of Jack and his companions. Walt was not prepared for the Jesse he had before him. He didn't know what game to run to get him to do his bidding this time. He was a shell of person before him; he wasn't really someone he knew. And so Walt stayed quiet longer.

Quietly and seeming timid, Jesse began, "Would you…with this cord around my wrist, would you do it?" He looked up at Walt, his eyes big and wet.

Walt looked at him with sorrow and sat down on the bunk opposite to where Jesse sat on the floor. He grabbed Jesse's hands and pulled them toward him and started to softly untie the the black cord. "Please, please," Jesse begged.

When the cord was finally unwound, the depth of his scars were laid bare before him. Jesse hadn't just tried to hang himself. Walt took off his sweater and then his undershirt quickly. He tore his undershirt, with some effort, and wrapped makeshift bandages around Jesse's wrists. Momentarily he clasped his hands and said, "I'm not going to kill you."

Walt put his sweater back on and breathed in deeply. This wasn't like To'hajiilee he told himself; this wasn't a cowardly act. He couldn't just kill Jesse because of the kid's misguided desperation. He needed him, even in this weakened state, to have one last chance at controlling his fate. With deep conceit he was aghast at resigning his fate to spending his last hours on earth with Jesse's dead body.

"Jesse, this isn't what you really want," he said with persuasive certainty. Jesse had calmed down yet Walt could see the despair and resignation now in his face. He was haunted but Walt couldn't concern himself with trying to help him; that would be of no use to Walt.


	3. Chapter 3

After a few hours of quiet in the cell, there was a clattering near the heavy metal door that enclosed them. Jesse jumped a mile while gasping, and Walt was more unsettled by his reaction. The door suddenly burst open to Todd and Kenny, both armed with guns. Walt stilled himself and stared straight out the door. He took to memorizing what lay directly beyond the men.

"Get yer ass over here, I don't want no show 'cause your daddy is here." Kenny scowled. Jesse slipped off the bunk and onto the floor in front of the four men.

"Did he untie you?" Kenny said, almost tenderly. "He shouldn'a done that, but that's alright."

Walt was now focused on the guns in the mens' hands and he was again perplexed. If he moved or otherwise protested, would he be shot? Any shot from such a machine gun would kill him with certainty and he figured it was worth a try. Walt sprung up off the bunk and Todd quickly slapped the barrel of his machine gun hard across Walt's face and then pushed the butt of his hand hard into Walt's chest further knocking him back. Walt never seemed to remember he was much weaker now than he ever had been. He lay on the floor with blood pouring from his nose. In this time, Kenny had shuffled Jesse out of the room and Todd then stole out behind him. The steel door clamoured shut again.

After a moment his eyes cleared and he realized he could hear the commotion outside the cell. Still bleeding, he crawled to the door to listen more clearly. Something had to spring up that would allow him to get the upper hand with these men, even if only momentarily before the End of it all.

"Stay on your knees," he heard Kenny holler. "That's it." Laughter followed and then some voices meandered over one another. He distinctly heard Kenny exhale with a grunt.

The blood had slowed from his nose and so Walt wiped his hands absent-mindedly against his pants. He scanned the perimeter of the closed door for any gaps he could peer through. Surprisingly, there was a half inch gap between the door and the floor. Walt lumbered onto his side and stuck his head against the door, squinting with one eye into the gap. He found a view of the middle of the clubhouse where Jesse knelt before Kenny. Immediately, Walt pulled away smashing his eyes shut. He shuddered audibly at the vision searing through his eyelids. Jesse was blowing Kenny and there was no gun pointed at him. Walt lay paralysed for a moment and wondered what could have happened to conjure such a scene.

"This is…despicable," Walt whispered to himself. He felt a wave of nausea overtake him and he rolled over to vomit. Irony knocked at him and Walt even pitied himself. He had lost everyone that meant something to him and now he felt he was right back where this enterprise began: inexplicably tied to a waif too incompetent to extricate himself from a dangerous situation. In fact, Jesse always had a knack for turning up the danger in any situation. Walt may have allowed Jesse to be taken to this hellhole, but in Walt's mind only Jesse could inspire such a dramatic spiralling of events. Walt sat up exasperated but still sickened enough to slowly begin thumping his fist against the door. He did so with great effor, and tired after each blow.

"Hey…Hey!" He shouted. "Is this what you have been doing instead of killing him or cooking meth…?!"

A protective passion engulfed him. "Just, stop this. Stop this now!" He thumped his whole arm against the door pathetically and winced in pain as his elbow smacked against the cold metal.

Todd's voice came creeping from the other side of the door. "Hey, Mr. White. Just – uh, just be quiet for a minute please."

"This is absurd. I can't abide this!" Walt shrieked, his eyes looking to the ceiling before his lids drooped closed.

"Mr. White it's okay, you can have a turn if you want." Todd offered in earnest through the door.

"My god, no. Todd, no." Walt recoiled from the door and he heard Todd's footsteps slowly walk away. He then heard a familiar cry and Jesse's voice pleading, "Please, I can't…". Walt steadied himself and laid back to the ground securing his eye line. He saw Todd kneel down behind Jesse, pulling down his pants and shorts to expose his bare behind. If I had killed him just a moment ago when he asked, Walt thought, I wouldn't be witnessing this.

The encounter stretched on for what felt like hours and didn't stop until every man in that clubhouse who wanted to take something from Jesse had done so. Walt now understood what Jesse had tried to tell him earlier. Walt had long shut his eyes but it couldn't drown out the sounds. He shook his head back and forth and felt tears sting his eyes. For a moment he wasn't sure who he felt worse for: Jesse or himself.

The door bolted open and struck Walt squarely in the back of the head. He shouted in pain and dragged himself away from the door. Todd and Kenny pushed Jesse back inside the cell and quickly shut the door. Jesse stayed crumpled in a pile a few feet from Walt with his head buried in his arms.

Walt slowly looked over to him out of the corner of his eyes. He took a deep breath and expelled it with a broken sigh. There he was, trapped in this tiny space with him, that imperfection in the great Heisenberg's empire, that treacherous blight he'd oft regarded as a son. And, now, what of Walt's fate? There would be no heroic catastrophe born of his hands. Would his last actions of meaning on this earthly plane be a war of words with this scourge? Walt had difficulty accepting this thought. Jesse had no fight left in him and the scale of the situation went beyond forgiveness or understanding. They were two men, one seething with hatred and the other hollowed by despair, laying at death's door awaiting only an invitation.


	4. Chapter 4

Jesse had huddled himself into the furthest corner of the room under the barred window and behind the bunks he lay on earlier. He was curled up into himself, arms hugging his legs and his face turned into the wall as far as comfortably possible. In his head, he was curled up in a corner in the front room of his house. It would be dimly lit as twilight dawned and it would be quiet, and peacefully still. This was the fantasy he returned to daily; he longed to be in his house, safe and alone. Sometimes he would dream of a fluffy duvet to wrap around himself, but that was rare. He couldn't always remember the sensation and so it began to detract from the escape. The simpler he kept the dream, the easier it was to conjure up to envelope him. There were no idle thoughts swirling through him; he had long stopped idle fancies. He thought about only two things: being home in that room or ending his life.

His first attempt to end his suffering had been the most traumatic; it took the most thought, the most preparation and the greatest emotional journey from Jesse. He had bargained with himself day and night for a week before finally accepting what he thought was his fate. After nights of planning and preparation it all came crashing to an end when the rope snapped and he fell feet first to the concrete ground of his subterranean cage. He woke to Todd reviving him, which drove him to deep despair. Jesse knew that his failure in that first instance is what led to his miserable existence presently. He was watched and guarded day and night from that point but he didn't let that stop him. At one point, he dashed several chemicals into a beaker and tried to inhale it before Todd swatted it out of his hands and toppled him to the ground, forcing his respirator onto this head. When he sliced open his wrists it was the most painful and least effective choice. A scruffy surgeon sewed him together with the skill of a girl guide on badge day and his poorly healed wounds were aggravated and re-opened by the black cord Kenny had a penchant to use on his wrists. He still tried wearily, at least every couple days, to do something to end his dismal reality. Jesse didn't believe in the afterlife and he took solace in the promise of the void. The day would come for him to die and that gave him the smallest something to hold in his heart. Jesse's day dream was suddenly shattered by a familiar voice.

"Jesse?" Walt shifted to a sitting floor position on the opposite side of the room. After Jesse's return from the incident in the clubhouse room, Walt had stayed there and watched in shock as he steadied himself and crawled to the far corner. "Jesse," he said more firmly.

Jesse didn't want to speak, but he turned his head ever so slightly and gave a furtive glance to Walt from the corners of his eyes. A bedraggled Walt was leering in his direction with eyes fixed on him heavily and mouth slightly open. Jesse turned his head away and rubbed his eyes annoyed at the mere presence of the man.

"Jesse," Walt said again this time hastened. "Yeah?" Jesse returned loudly without looking in Walt's direction.

"What exactly…is going on here…exactly?" Walt enquired slowly.

"Uh, what d'ya mean?" Jesse returned, playing as dumb and distant as he could muster.

Walt balked, throwing his eyes in all directions. "What can I say to you right now?"

"Just don't say anything at all," Jesse quietly returned, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes.

After a time that felt like hours, the metal door opened partially and tray of fast food and water was kicked inside. Watching the door slam shut and hearing the click of the deadbolts, Walt cleared his throat and moved toward the food. He grabbed for fried chicken and water but Jesse didn't stir. After sating himself, he looked to Jesse quizzically. "You need to eat and drink. We'll have no hope of getting out of here if you're limp and dehydrated on me."

"Are you for real?" Jesse retorted, half laughing. "We're not 'getting out of here' okay – this is it. Get it?"

Walt exhaled violently. "You really are…" and he trailed off, realising for once that calling Jesse pathetic was not timely. He switched gears and said, "Here, Jesse look – there's a sink here above the commode. I'm going to wash this blood off of me…and then, why don't you freshen up, then maybe you'll be hungry." He wasn't being cheerful but rather pragmatic in the face of what he was now wilfully viewing as adversity. Even though Walt knew death was lurking nearby, he refused to wallow with this burden until the last moments presented themselves.

"I'm like, a slave…you realise that, right, Mr White? Freshening up isn't part of my life anymore." Jesse spoke falteringly and lightly.

Walt turned off the tap and braced the sink. He looked down and thought for a moment. "I know that, Jesse, I know that." He coughed roughly and then turned around looking at Jesse still huddled in the corner with his head pressed to the wall. "Can we not just reframe things, maybe? Or…" realising how foolish that sounded, he said, "Can I do something here to alleviate some of the problem…?"

Jesse looked right at Walt with squinting eyes and said, "Are you going to kill me?"

"No, that I won't do."

"Unless you're going to kill me, bitch, there ain't nothing to be done." Jesse said with some finality.

Annoyance rolled through Walt but a pang of relief also resounded. He managed to rile him up a bit. There was some life in him yet, Walt was sure of it.

Time rolled ever forward until it appeared to be the nearing the night again. There was consistently a hum of television noise from the clubhouse room and occasionally Walt overheard entire conversations. He managed to gather that his car was still parked where he left it and that Jack and his associates rarely left for long periods of time. He surmised that he needed to stage a ruse to get the cell door open once he was ready to act. When it was open, all he could do is run for his keys and he would likely be shot at some point before he could set off the M60. Maybe with Jesse's help he could get time to move his car into a better position. At the back of Walt's mind there was a thought about the eighty million that was hidden in the compound. He could placate himself by engineering a plan to extricate them from the cell but he knew the odds were that the ruse would get both he and Jesse killed. There were too many in Jack's gang and Jesse was weaker than Walt. Regardless, he knew he would make one last attempt to act instead of continuing to wait for death. And he thought of the irony now presenting itself: that Jesse had pleaded with him to take his life and he had refused to be so merciful, and now he was plotting both their fates to a tragic end.

Before Jesse's treachery against Walt, he could easily sway Jesse to do his bidding or at least aggravate him into some sort of action. He may still be able to aggravate him but Walt knew what Jesse had suffered these past twelve months had weakened him to a state beyond apathy that he couldn't fully comprehend. Although Walt had endured severe loneliness and the uncompromising presence of his mortality while he dwelled in his New Hampshire cabin, he had not been dragged through the depths of sorrow and agony as Jesse had.

Jesse slowly stood up from the corner and shuffled over to the commode. Walt stared at him as he did so but Jesse kept his eyes averted. He stood with his back to Walt and stood for some time in silence. Walt looked away but a familiar feeling of ire and the desire to goad entranced Walt. He had made peace with so much of his life between New Hampshire and being locked in this cell but being in this confined space with him brought out the worst in Walt.

"Is everything…okay over there?" Walt enquired with a tinge of sarcasm.

"Fuck off, please" Jesse whined. He started to pee with what looked like some effort, wincing with a slight moan.

Walt stared at the ceiling and encountered a momentary wave of guilt. It passed quickly and he returned his eyes to Jesse, who was steadying himself against the wall with one arm. In the next moment he lost hold of his pants and they tumbled to his ankles. He swore, hurrying to finish in order to pull them back up.

Walt shook his head idly before glancing back when the sight befell him. The scars were too many to count and so deep and horrid that Walt sucked a breath in and held it without realising. He was so unclean Walt could not begin to imagine all the indignities he had suffered. A fatherly impulse beat in his chest and he desired to wash him and put him in the bunk for the night. It was only a fleeting wish, however, as Walt wouldn't do it and Jesse would never let him. Jesse finished and picked up his paints swiftly never turning to face Walt. He then slid into the bottom bunk against the far wall and brought his knees to his chest.

Tears pricked at Walt's eyes unexpectedly as he watched Jesse shiver, curled up in the bunk. For once, thoughts of himself drifted out of his mind and he dwelled only on the other person inhabiting his space. He thought about the loneliness and despair he must have felt each and everyone one of those three hundred and sixty five nights dirty and alone. About how the only touch he felt would have been a hand to strike him or caress him against his will. And then he thought, I let this happen. It may not have been my hand to his body but I let this happen. And then Walt cried in earnest feeling the weight of his actions piled atop his chest and the brutality of their consequences manifested thickly in the very ether surrounding him. Audible sobs began to slip out and Jesse slowly turned onto his back to peer at Walt. He stared at him, perplexed.

"Why are you crying?" Jesse said harshly, not asking for an honest answer.

Walt's eyes rolled upward and he wiped away the wetness from under them. "I think I can get us out of here. I'm formulating a plan and I'll need you to, uh...I'll need you to help me execute it." Tears were still forming and he could barely get the words out.

Jesse stared back at him for a long time as he lay on his back. His arms awkwardly lay beside him and he looked uncomfortable. "We're not getting out...Walt."

Hearing Jesse say his name jarred him and the sight of him was strangling his intestines more and more as each minute passed. He was now profusely sweating and his heart beat accelerating at what felt like a life-ending pace. Contradictions swirling inside of him started to tear him apart. The ire and aggravation Jesse provoked in him, especially in this tiny room, were grinding against deep regret, and the heaviest, harrowing guilt and sorrow he'd ever experienced. He couldn't decide if he wanted to scream at Jesse or take him in his arms. Such was Walt's nature that his mind worked swiftly to dilute or deny any truths that could cause him this level of pain and so Walt chose to raise his voice.

"Jesse for God's sakes will you just snap out of it? Swear at me, lay into me – just do something other than lay there and say there is no hope for us." The loud words fell out of Walt's mouth and his mouth stayed open after he finished.

Jesse slowly slipped himself out of the bunk and sat on the floor a metre in front of Walt.

"I can't want to leave here. Why can't you see that? There is no life that I want to live. Everything about me, everything I was is gone and ruined. You took everything from me…every single thing…but that wasn't enough. You let these people take me and keep me, and now things I didn't know I had to give are gone, forever."


	5. Chapter 5

Jesse steadied his gaze deep into Walt's eyes unfalteringly. Walt was stunned and stared back realising that any ounce of innocence that once accentuated Jesse's being had been erased out of him. His eyes were now steely and cold. There was nothing Walt could say in that moment and Jesse's words draped over Walter until he felt suffocated.

Suddenly, Jesse was moving closer and Walt moved backward, uneasy. Jesse crawled onto his knees in front of him and outstretched his arms. He shoved his wrists right under Walt's nose and yelled, "Look! Look at me!" Walt remained upright and stiff and darted his eyes downward, not wanting to look at what was before him. He could tell Jesse's mood was turning rapidly volatile after having made such a stark admission. Walt could sense a bullseye appearing on his forehead.

"You're a coward, the worst kind of wannabe villain. You couldn't even kill me with your own hands. You killed Mike…and you couldn't even kill me." Jesse stared at him and Walt could sense his rage. "Instead of killing me you leave me as a pet for a bunch of Nazi lunatics. You fucking asshole!" Jesse screamed and it was then he punched Walt squarely in the nose, breaking it. He sat straddling Walt for a moment and managed to land three more punches before the steel door swung open abruptly.

"You little bitches! Get off, get off him!" Kenny yelled as he plucked Jesse from atop Walt and proceeded to force him onto the far bunk. Jack and Todd followed into the room and grabbed a hold of Walt, who was still stunned from the assault.

"You boys are going to need to play a bit more nicely for a little while longer, 'cause we ain't cutting your heads off yet." Jack said, grinning. "Kenny, you settle the rat down once we hog tie ole' Heisenberg here."

Jack and Todd proceeded to tie Walt's hands and feet together behind his back using a thick, black cord before exiting the room. It was wholly uncomfortable and now Walt was immobile. He lay with his head to the cold floor exasperated and breathing heavily. He watched as Kenny tightly tied Jesse's wrists to the bunk's support beam. Jesse gasped at the pain. As Kenny began to take liberties with Jesse's body, Walt slammed his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to endure this again.

"Stop, stop it!" Walt yelled, pathetically but in earnest. Kenny barely acknowledged his pleas. Walt's head rolled forward on the concrete. "You can have me instead."

"Do not flatter yourself, Walter White. No one wants a piece of your sorry ass." Kenny laughed. "Besides, my angel wants it."

Walt scoffed and grunted. What was about to happen was yet another low to endure before the end of line. Feeling sorry for himself, he tried in vain to roll over. He was stuck in his current position and about to wallow in it. Suddenly, his intestines began to knot and burn and he felt a hard lump in his throat. He swallowed and his thoughts cleared. How could he lay there and pity himself when Jesse was opposite him experiencing true suffering, he thought. Walt opened his eyes and steadied himself as a revelation took hold of him. He could bear witness; this was the only meaningful act he could undertake. As revolting and disturbing as the display in front of him was, he fought his nausea and kept his eyes open. This would be the one thing he could give Jesse that would be selfless. And what hurt him the most, the thing that tore at his being and made him wish his eyes had been gauged out of his body, was watching the man bring Jesse pleasure. Walt went numb as he watched him climax; he refused to falter in his role but he felt claustrophobic in the tiny space. Within moments, the steel door was shut and the space was returned to Walt and Jesse.

Walt instinctually began writhing against his bondage trying to loosen the cord. He guessed that the whole hog tie element had been for effect given that the cord was loosening with relative ease. After forty long minutes passed, he freed his left hand and was able to untie the rest swiftly. His nose throbbed, still broken and swelling by the minute but he was no longer concerned by his own body's complaints. He grabbed the remnants of the t-shirt he discarded earlier and soaked it under the tap above the commode. He went to Jesse's side and placed the rung-out t-shirt to his forehead. Jesse opened his eyes and looked into him with a stillness that brought a shiver to Walt's bones. They stayed quiet as Walt began sponging Jesse's face and neck. He then carefully untied his wrists and set his arms down on top of his chest. He renewed his makeshift cloth and re-attended Jesse. He began carefully washing him and spoke.

"You don't need to say anything else to me about this, any of this. I mean, you can but you don't need to. I can't say anything to you that would help you. I won't apologise to you because that would be utterly meaningless at this stage. That would not help you, nor would it be believable…I can't tell you that we'll live much longer, or even that we will succumb to death soon, as I know you're longing for." Walt fought to stay composed, clearing his throat. "I won't take your life, even though I know it would be a merciful because something in me is screaming for me not to do that." He paused for a moment and breathed deeply. "What I can say, Jesse, is that I was here. I was here, I am here and I saw it." Quiet tears rolled down his checks and he continued, "I am here with you and I am your witness. Somehow if you get out of here and are past this, and I know you will rightfully hate me and the memory of me if that happens, and I want you to hate me, but in time this may bring you some form of solace…knowing that you weren't completely alone in the end."

Walt sat for a moment and looked a Jesse, whose eyes were still open but now downcast. He moved his hand to Jesse's head and moved away hair from his eyes. "When you're in therapy, you know…right?" Walt let out the tiniest chuckle hoping his levity would be received well. "When you're talking to your therapist in a couple years, you can just say there was this brief moment when someone was there and they recognised what was happening to you. Maybe that'll help…" Walt trailed off having run out of steam. He coughed for a moment and then dropped his hands to his lap.

"I don't get…how's that's supposed to help me," Jesse said slowly, not looking up.

Quick to react, Walt returned, "That's okay, you don't need to right now."

Jesse then looked up at Walt with wet eyes, "I can't come back from this."

Walt looked down at him: his eyes looked small and cold. "You don't, Jesse. You can't go back. You move forward in a completely different direction. Nothing will be the same." Walt stroked his hair as he began to cry wholeheartedly.

Walt decided he would sit with Jesse until he faded into sleep. While he absent-mindedly stroked his head, he surveyed the room and started weighing his next moves. At least once a day, Jack's degenerates would want something from Jesse, so he could be assured of the opportunity to bolt out of the door. However, he wouldn't know when that would occur. Similarly, it seemed rather easy to provoke the men into opening the door through a staged argument. What he would need is some way to incapacitate whoever rushed through the door. He looked to the floor at the lengths of black cord then to the plastic food tray and then back at Jesse. He wasn't sure how he could talk him into doing anything in his current state and he felt conflicted about doing so. If he could just put a plan together that would get them a few steps ahead of Jack and his gang, maybe Jesse would feel something again. Walt hoped that his words would rest in him and maybe make the tiniest of difference to him. Thinking Jesse had fallen into sleep, he put his hands down on the bunk to lift himself off when the a hand faintly grasped at his wrist; it was so light it was ghostly. He looked and saw Jesse's outstretched arm reaching out to him with his eyes still shut. "I'm here," Walt said quietly. He cautiously put his legs up and stretched out while laying his head down. Slowly, Jesse turned onto his side toward Walt and begin to curl into him. As he would with Junior, Walt lifted his arm and placed it around him and Jesse buried his head under Walt's side. He was shocked that Jesse could more than stomach contact with him but he was relieved then suddenly hopeful.


	6. Chapter 6

Jesse had a long, sound and uneventful sleep for the first time in many months. It was the first time he rested with any ease since he had been taken captive. That was not to say that he had much ease, but he took the smallest comfort in Walt's presence. He woke as a minute amount of light seeped in through the small, barred window. His eyes opened one at a time and he stirred slightly, backing his head away from Walt's side. The arm around him became firm and steadied him in place, which only startled Jesse. He sprang to a sitting position and froze as visions and sensations wound through him: Kenny looming over him, crushing his chest or pinning him down by his back. He shook the thoughts from his head and stilled himself on the bunk. He was here beside Mr. White and _that_ wasn't what was happening…at least not yet. His breathing became rapid as thoughts about the day ahead crawled into his head. When would it happen and how would it happen swam around in his mind.

"Jesse, lay back down," Walt ordered with a voice that was firm, but still warm. He slowly lowered himself down while his breathing only became more rapid.

"Here, lay your head on my chest and breathe in and out with me," Walt said, patting his chest. Hesitantly, he complied and laid his head down as his eyes wandered across the room to the steel door. Walt's chest rose and fell at a slow and steady pace, and Jesse concentrated on inhaling and exhaling along with it. It worked, and he soon fell back asleep.

As he drifted again into a deep sleep, this time he began to dream he was back in the desert. He was back at To'hajiilee on his knees with a gun pointed at his head. Walt stood in front of him and bargained with Jack over his death. Jesse had dreamed about these events many times over the past year, and every time the dream ended in the same way: he was shot in the head before Walt could rip his heart out by telling him about Jane. Everything would then fade to white and a sense of warmth and contentedness he's never experienced in waking life would envelope him.

The dream was different this time. Hank and his partner's bodies lay in front of him filling the space between him and Mr. White, and blood began to pool at his knees as though it refused to sink into the sand. He looked up at Mr White, who spoke so fast he was incomprehensible. When he looked back down, the bodies were replaced with those of Andrea and Jane. Covered in blood, they looked at Jesse from the corners of their eyes. He screamed, and Walt is now in front of him, pointing a gun in his face. "Open up" he said, sliding the gun into his mouth. Suddenly, he hears "Stop...stop, Jesse…"

"-Wake up, stop it!" Walt shook him from his nightmare. He opened his eyes and blurted out a groggy 'no' realising his faced Walt uncomfortably close. He moved himself back until he felt comfortable, but didn't sit up.

"You were drooling and mouthing at my chest," Walt said with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

"I was just dreaming," Jesse returned, not interested in discussing how he was being tortured even as he slept. And tortured by Walt, no less.

"Do you think you've slept enough?" Walt asked.

Jesse moved off of Walt and pulled his knees to his chest. "Yeah, I mean, it's the most sleep I've had…all year," he half-smiled.

"Good. There's no reason for us to wait any longer. We need to act today."

"Okay," Jesse said quietly.

Walt and Jesse sat against the wall directly in the steel door's opening radius each clutching a length of black cord, and their resolve only began to fade after forty-five minutes of waiting.

"Like, how long are we sitting in this position?" Jesse asked.

"Until the door opens, then we jump up. Remember, you need to put that metal tray in the door so we can re-open it." Walt pointed to the dining tray propped up against the wall beside Jesse.

"And what if like, three of them come in?" Jesse had a bit more energy in his voice, but he was a long way from where Walt wished he were.

"We'll just have to improvise. Eye gouging is effective, um…a very hard kick in the nuts is always a good way to go."

Walt was mulling over self-defence moves in his encyclopedic brain. Jesse half rolled his eyes then laid his head back against the wall. Walt could see a new anxiety overtaking him. "What if we make it to the car and can drive away, then what?" Jesse asked.

Walt looked down his nose into Jesse's eyes. With irritation he said, "What do you mean, that is our goal. That's what we're working toward. Are we on the _same page_ here?"

"Yeah, I get that…I mean, like after that bit. Where are we going?"

Oh, Walt mouthed. He didn't have an answer and hadn't long thought about it.

"Like, how much money do you have?" Jesse asked.

Walt looked down and scratched the side of his head. "Oh, I've got some…a little bit to keep us going."

"Like, how much are we talking here? 'Cause I'm fucked. Since you won't kill me, I might have to live a long life or something. I can't get a job, I can't even like be _seen_ in public…" Jesse trailed off. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes tightly and Walt sensed his despair.

"Jesse, I hadn't thought that far ahead because quite honestly, I don't think this will work. I figured that you were ready to _go out_ …with me…like this. Maybe we could at least take a few with us." Walt chuckled a bit as his eyes began to glisten.

"Ohh…" Jesse started. "I am, I mean…I've been ready for ages." He looked back at Walt, eyes soft and heartening, which to Walt was terrifying.

"But are you really? You're sitting here asking about money and the rest of your life after this place. God, you're still so young, Jesse. Maybe we need to rethink this. Maybe we need to take our time and think about long term, for you-"

"Take our time? What are you saying?" Jesse's hands shook and his throat sounded scratchy. He threw down the black cord and stood up. Walt rolled his eyes and dropped his too, bracing for what was coming next.

"Are you screwing with me right now, still, after all this time?" Jesse yelled at him.

"No, I am not. Would you please just calm down. We need to re-think this plan."

"You're the one who rallied me into like, being all ready for this. I just wanted to be done with everything, but no, you have get me thinking _things_ …about… _stuff_!"

"Okay, Jesse enough. Just quiet down." Walt returned firmly, now standing opposite Jesse. They were still behind the door, and Walt was bubbling with aggravation, his chest beginning to heave when he had a thought. If they could just hang on a little longer…

Suddenly the door flew open and Kenny and Todd appeared. They hadn't turned around yet to find Walt and Jesse had been hiding behind the door, and Walt couldn't let that happen. Instinctually, he grabbed Jesse and pushed him to the floor behind Kenny and Todd.

"Whoa now, what's goin' on here?" Kenny grinned.

In the best Heisenberg voice Walt could muster he spewed, "Oh nothing. I've just had enough of this little pissant."

Jesse looked up at him from the floor, gritting his teeth.

"We'll take him off your hands," Kenny laughed as he and Todd dragged Jesse out by his elbows. The door was shut with a bang from the outside.

Walt knew that Jesse may not forgive him for this in his lifetime. He decided that was of little relevance, and it mere placed him in a category with his son Walter, Jr. Walt had now accepted that Jr. would lead his life despising his father. He was comforted instead to know that Jr. would receive his trust from Gretchen and Elliot and, at the very least, he and Holly would be taken care of for their entire lives. And he hoped, too, that Jr. would care for Sklyar in her twilight. It was the only possible thing he could give them because everything else was lost. What if he could devise a plan to do the same for Jesse? If he could get a piece of that eighty million and send Jesse off with it, at least he'd have a fighting chance. He had been right, Walt thought, about what would happen next. Allowing him to drive into the night without a plan could end in too many desperate situations. Pinkman didn't value his life as it stood now and there would be little way to convince him to carry on without the means to do so. He had to devise a way to retrieve at least a portion of the money, and then a safe passage from the compound for at least Jesse.

After a few hours, the metal door opened. Walt expected to see Jesse collapse into a heap on the ground. He was ready to give the performance of a lifetime to get him on side. Instead, Jack walked in and shut the door quickly behind him. He stood and stared at Walt, hair slicked back and leather jacket chafing.

"Walt, I got a job for you," Jack started. "My boy wants a cook with you before you bite the big one."

Walt's jaw dropped and his eyelids flickered. "A cook…with me?"

"Yes, you know Todd's strange affinity for you. He has spent the last day pleading with me for one last chance to learn from the master. Who am I to crush his little dream?"

Walt shifted and stood directly opposite Jack, shoulders back and eyes dark.

"I would be agreeable to this," Walt started firmly, "but, I want one thing in return since we're nearing the last supper, so to speak."

"I'm listening," Jack returned with a smirk.

"I want that little runt Pinkman as _my_ prisoner. I want _my_ way with him and no interference from your men until it's time for…the last rites." Walt exhaled sharply and rose his nose, daring Jack to argue with him.

"I see. I'm not sure my men will be amendable to that. You see, they got habits with that little cocksucker."

"I'm well aware of these habits. You've had him for a year, is that not enough? I'm a dying man…I have desires." Walt nearly choked at his own words he found them so repulsive. He steadied himself and stared directly into Jack's eyes.

"Okay…Walt. Death sure does bring out the truth in a man. If you want a lady before we kill you, Toddy can see what he can find-"

"No, I want him." Walt blurted out, practically yelling.

"Fine. I can't make any promises about the other men but I'll try and have them ease off. Toddy will be in for the cook when he's ready. Could be a day, could be a week. Don't sweat it, though. Either way you'll be meeting your maker soon enough." Jack finished and left quickly, the door banging shut and the deadlock clattering to a hard click. Walt immediately braced himself on his knees breathing in and out while trying to keep his composure. He could work with this, he thought.

Three more hours passed with Walt lying alone on his bunk. His hopeful mood had given way to a sullen depression at Jesse's absence. He felt the longer he was gone, the worse state he would be in when he returned. Maybe he was simply cooking with Todd, he tried to convince himself. There was no way to know until the moment he returned, and so Walt tried to push it out of his mind. Supper came with water and again it was fried chicken, but this time with biscuits and one apple turnover. He ate the apple turnover with no hesitation, and contentedly drank down some water. And then, the door opened. Slowly and quietly Jesse walked into the room, the door shutting quietly behind him. He stood for a moment staring. Walt was relieved he was upright and walking, so relieved that he smiled, which must have spooked Jesse. Suddenly, he remembered his talk with Jack and the realty of the situation. "Jesse," he ordered, "Get on the bunk."

"What?" Jesse scowled.

"Do as I say." Walt yelled while raising his eyebrows and bulging his eyes imploringly, hoping Jesse would understand.

"Are you FOR REAL?" Jesse yelled back. "You _push_ me to the ground like bait for those assholes and now you're _ordering_ me around?" He waved his arms around while he yelled back, not comprehending for a moment Walt's plan.

"Jesse, DO AS I SAY." He firmly yelled into to Jesse's face, and then he quickly leant in and whispered, "Just go with this, I will explain."

"Whatever, asswipe." Jesse reluctantly walked over to the bunk and sat down, huffing and puffing.

Walt was certain that the men could not see into the room unless they were peering through cracks between the door and its frame. He doubted that, but he was less certain they wouldn't eavesdrop periodically. It was going to be distasteful at times, but his plan should keep Jesse protected.


	7. Chapter 7

Walt sat down directly across from Jesse on the bunk opposite. As he sat down, his knees bumped those of Jesse, who let out an aggravated groan. Walt leaned into him as he began to speak and Jesse threw himself backward immediately.

"Listen to me closely," Walt whispered. "Jack came in here while you were gone and he wants me to cook. Todd apparently wants one last session with me, and then after that I'm dead. We're…dead."

Jesse's face was scrunched and he looked at Walt through squinting eyes. "I don't _care_. The sooner this is all over, the better. Why're you being a grade A dick?"

"I'm not Jesse…I'm-"

"Yeah y'are."

"I've made an arrangement and I'm going to need you to play along."

"I'm about _done_ going along with anything you have to say." Jesse raised up his legs and laid back on the bunk with a sigh, closing his eyes.

"No, no, Jesse, stay with me on this. _Please_. If I can get out into the lab here on the compound I can surely find a way to get us out of here."

"I was just _in the_ _lab_ and I think you're going to find it difficult to be all 'master of science' in there when you're chained to the ceiling."

Walt was taken aback for a moment. He blinked rapidly and his stomach knotted. He said quietly, "Is that…how you have been cooking for them?"

"It's not really a chain. It's kinda a metal cable type thing. It used to be bad when I had like, cuffs on my wrists and ankles and chains in between and then the cable thing…but the last while it's just been the cable in there." Jesse had laid down and bent an arm over his eyes.

"Manacles. The cuffs and chains are called manacles." Walt couldn't help himself, the words just slipped out.

"I never needed to know that, thanks…"

"Just okay, let's leave that to one side for now." Walt exhaled deeply and rubbed his forehead. "I need you with me on this. I know that your motivation for getting out of here is low at the moment, to say the least. You need to focus on something to get you through this. Think of…Andrea. I know it must be difficult with what you've been subject to, but she's out there and eventually maybe you can speak to her again." Walt was grasping at straws, but he thought if he could just redirect Jesse's thoughts, he could get him back on his side and it would reduce the blow of the arrangement.

Jesse dropped his arm and turned his face toward Walt's. His eyes were steely and his face pale. He stared at Walt for a long time without speaking. Walt stared back but began to feel uncomfortable and shifted himself on the bunk. After another minute he nervously balked, "Jesse, what?"

"Andrea's been dead for…a while now. I watched Todd shoot her in the head." Jesse said it plainly, staring back into Walt's eyes as his own slowly welled.

Walt choked on his breath for a moment breaking his gaze. He looked down and then around the room searching his mind for mollifying words. He couldn't find any, and so he stayed quiet.

"That's it, look away. Maybe now you can understand for a _split second_ that I can't ever survive this. This _has_ to be it. I'm here in practically a prison cell with you. You. The only time I tried to get out of here…when I tried to leave, they killed one of the few people I had left to live for. They made me _watch_."

Walt could see the rage bubbling up in Jesse that mixed like oil in water with the fiercest sorrow. Jesse wiped a tear away as he turned away from Walt and buried himself as far into the bunk as he could. Walt simply nodded to himself as he decided to drop his campaign for now.

After two hours of silence, Jesse hadn't slept. He had spent each minute with his eyes forward staying at the white cement wall. He became flushed and sticky with perspiration. He turned around on the bed and the words flew out of his mouth. "In the desert…in like, the last moment you thought you'd _ever_ see me, you told me you saw Jane die - that you let her die."

A chill moved through Walt. Sweat appeared on his palms and he began wringing his hands. This confrontation was an eventuality that had not occurred to him, like much of this macabre two-man play he found himself in. He was transported back to To'hajillee in his mind: the scorching sun and the smell of blood, the sand whipping at his face and the vile malice that overtook him after Hank was killed. Jesse's treachery was unforgivable and had led to Hank's death, and so he had never considered remorse for his words that day. He wasn't about to start now, either, but this was a conversation Walt never expected to have and he was ill prepared for it, for he had made peace with the assumption that Jesse was more than likely dead when he was in New Hampshire. Looking across at Jesse, who was wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Walt started to speak in a low voice. "Everything I said that day in the desert was true. I was there."

"Why were you there?" Jesse asked.

"I had a drink with someone that night…by chance. This person reminded me not to give up on family."

"But didn't you somehow drink with Jane's dad that night?"

"I did, it was he who told me not to give up on family." Walt looked to the barred window at the light that was diminishing. A few amber rays were cascading around the rusty bars.

"I don't understand."

"Jesse," Walt breathed out with exasperation. "You _never_ understood how I felt about you, _ever_. I can't think of a single moment when we were on the same page in this partnership. I came back to try and talk some sense into you. And then, _that_ happened."

"You let it happen."

"I did, I let it happen. But you lived…you weren't the one OD'ing."

Jesse took pause for a moment, but Walt could see the pain burning inside him. "Since she died it's felt like there was a hole in my heart. Like, big and gaping and if you ripped open my chest you could see it, that's what it still feels like." Tears flowed and he sobbed a few times. "If you never came that night, and instead I spent the next two weeks speedballing 'till I OD'd, that would have been a much happier fucking life than the one I got instead…with you."

Walt was struck by the truth in that statement. He would never have guessed at that time it could be true, that there could have been a fate worse than a life quickly lived in oblivion. Walt looked upon Jesse; he couldn't fathom what caused all that he now saw in the young man's face. There was one deep scar on his right cheek in particular that he surmised would never fade nor recede. His face had matured gravely and he now looked past his true age. Feelings of regret and loathing scraped at his insides as he stared at Jesse looking so wretched on the bunk.

"You were like a son to me; I couldn't let you be destroyed by something so senseless as heroin." The words were honest and raw, which Walt was unaccustomed to and so he teared up momentarily.

"Is that what you would do for your son? For mini-Walt – kill whatever he loves until he's only go you left?"

"That's not what I was doing!" Walt let out, trying not to yell. Aggravation began to pulsate inside him and he could no longer sit. He stood up awkwardly, bumbling to his feet. He walked over to the barred window and stood for a moment, inhaling and exhaling. He then grabbed a bar in each hand and began to tug violently at them as if he could rip the bars out of the window like some sort of Hulk. Instead, he looked and felt impotent. Jesse glimpsed his outburst from the corners of his eyes and quickly looked away. Walt would be an angry, embittered man to the very end despite his best efforts to find some semblance of peace. After nearly a minute of shaking the two bars in vain, he let out a moan of frustration, laying his head against the cement wall.

"Sit down…Walt," Jesse said in an eerie tone that disturbed instantly. "Let's stop dragging the past around. We'll be dead soon. It won't matter then. Well, unless you believe in a God who will judge you. Then you must be _shittin' it_."

"Shut up, Jesse." Walt wasn't amused and he stood at the end of Jesse's bunk leaning on the metal support beam, panting with his eyes closed. The weight of guilt was bearing down on this chest, constricting and contorting it.

"I accept my fate, is all. And I know I've paid for every bad thing I've done…you haven't." Jesse said, still in an eerie, unfamiliar tone.

"Just stop _talking_."

"What, is your guilt like, overwhelming or something? Is it _crushing_ you?"

"You little fool! Do not even pretend to know what I'm thinking or feeling. You couldn't possibly understand why I've done what I've done." Walt was crumbling from guilt, but he would never let Jesse know he was right. "You don't even know what I've done for you. I've made a deal to keep those barbarians off of you until we're out of here. I did it to save you from _that_ , even if it's only for a short time. You never believe me when I tell you I'm trying to protect you, instead you make it _impossible_ for me to do so," Walt stammered out, nearly breathless.

Laying very still, Jesse kept his eyes nearly closed. "Why would you do that?"

"Why would I do that? My god, why wouldn't I? What do you think of me? Well, don't-"

"The worst things you could think of a person." His tone was flat.

Walt steadied himself. "I deserve that. Okay, but I have brokered a deal of sorts that should just improve things for you here for this next phase."

"What did you have to do?" Jesse asked.

"Nothing, exactly. Well, I asked Jack for you in return for the cook," Walt said, clearing his throat. His breathing had settled and he was beginning to focus on the task at hand once again.

"What does that mean? Like, keep me safe and you'll do the cook?"

"Not…exactly. I said that I wanted you as my _own_ personal prisoner, more or less, in exchange for cooking with Todd once again. And no more interference from the others." Walt held his head in his hand as he braced for the inevitable impact.

"Yo, what! Why would he agree to that?" Jesse nearly yelled.

Sighing, Walt replied, "I told him I was a dying man with… _needs_. He felt a bit sorry for me I think." A moment passed and Walt went from staring at the ceiling to glancing in Jesse's direction only to find his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

"Oh my God, after all this time, you _are_ actually a pervert. Did all of that watching me get stuffed turn you on or something? That's messed up."

Walt threw his hands up. "No, for Godsakes, no! We're not- that's not…you're not actually going to be a prisoner, my prisoner." He ended in a whisper. "I just need you to play the part when required."

"That's still seriously dark and messed up."

"No, you're looking at it the wrong way. This is better than the alternative."

"Is it? I'm not touching you."

"I'm not going to make you touch me! My god, that…shouldn't have to happen in any way, shape or form."

"Shouldn't? _Shouldn't?_ Jesus fucking Christ…" Jesse rolled onto his side, away from Walt.

"Shh, shh, quiet. Just keep it down. If anyone bursts in while you're on the bunk, just curl into the corner and try to look _more_ pathetic than you already do, if that's possible. We'll work out the rest later."

"Dick."

Walt shook his head emphatically and laid down on his own bunk.

After a time, the sound of the door opening slowly overtook a heavy silence in the room. Walt whispered in Jesse's direction, and so he dutifully made himself small in the corner of his bunk. He buried his head as deep under himself as he could. Todd was quieter than usual and appeared to be on his own. He had two large water bottles in his hands.

"Uh, Mr. White? I'm just dropping off some water. The guys forgot to put it in before."

Stepping to his feet but keeping a distance, Walt returned, "Thank you, Todd, that is thoughtful." He smiled a fake smile of pleasantries that resembled a grimace.

Todd returned the smile in earnest. "Thanks for agreeing to do one more cook with me. I know it's not ideal here, but I could still learn so much from you."

"I think it was a fair trade." Walt said, curious to bring up the arrangement. He looked at Todd, whose eyes remained as blank as ever.

"Jesse did a real good job cleaning the lab today. You should go easy on him tonight Mr. White."

Surprised at the compliment from Todd, but also the context around what Jesse had been doing that afternoon, Walt looked over to him. He was still in character, remaining in a crumpled heap in the furthest corner of his bunk. "I will be sure to keep that in mind."

"The other guys, they said they'd stay away. At least 'till after the cook." Todd said in his monotonous, innocent tone.

"Good, uh…that's good.' Walt cleared his throat. "When did you envisage our cook to take place?" Walt asked, a slight nervousness appearing in his words.

"Don't worry Mr. White, it's not going to be now. You still have some time. You know, Kenny said to tell you Jesse really likes it if you use two-"

"Stop! Right, that's – that's quite alright." He forced a laugh out and another grimaced smile onto his face. His voice got low and the words swam around in his mouth, like vomit waiting to be spewed. "I know _exactly_ what he likes."

"Alright Mr. White. Night." And Todd quietly left the room and the deadbolt once again clicked into place.

Walt groaned in disgust, raising his arms into the air in a form of desperation. Jesse unfurled from the corner and was not amused. "You are _completely_ _disgusting_."

"I'm not. I didn't…It was him. I had to sound believable, even to that ventriloquist's dummy." He sat down and drank in some of the fresh water Todd had left. "Are you not the tiniest bit grateful for what I've saved you from here?" He asked, annoyed at Jesse's insults.

"Yeah, I'm like so grateful. So grateful until I have to fucking eat your cock to make it _believable_!"

"You are such a child. Don't be so revolting! Christ!" Walt nearly yelled, waiving both is hand in the air.

"Calm down…Walt. You're gonna bust a nut just thinking about it." Jesse said slyly, with the hint of smirk appearing on his face.

"You're just-" Walt began, but stopped himself when he saw the amusement in Jesse's face. Seeing Jesse joking with him was a relief.

Jesse then sat up with a clearer look in his eyes than before. "I guess I can tell you now that I lifted something when I was cleaning in the lab."

Walt moved in to Jesse's space immediately. "What is it?"

"This long thing – what is it?"

"It's nichrome wire. You mean to say you took this from the lab and have kept it quiet this entire time?" Walt couldn't believe the idiocy still residing in Jesse.

"Yeah, well we've been a bit busy arguing about shit and play-acting like I'm your sex slave for it to come up." Jesse returned. Walt continued to examine the wire and his mind started to churn over possibilities.

"Why, if you had access to this, did you not take it before, or other more useful things, and try to escape?" Walt asked inquisitively.

Jesse looked down as he answered. "After…Andrea, they said Brock was next. That's when I decided not to try again."

A silence engulfed the room as Walt grasped a sliver of the depth of Jesse's sorrow. He now understood Jesse had given up hope for a free life in order to save one last innocent: the life of child. He must have been living as a mere shell of a man for however many months it had been since Andrea died, living on autopilot to ensure a safe, long life for the boy, and living merely to die; death was the last outpost of his hope. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Walt returned to the metal he held in his hand. "Nichrome is a non-magnetic alloy of nickel and chrome. If we can unravel this instrument, we should be able to use it to pick the deadbolt on the door."

The men were now seated side by side on Walt's bunk peering at the nichrome as Walt began to unravel it. Jesse started, "Pick a deadbolt? Aren't they supposed to be super safe from break-ins?"

"Deadbolts are meant to weather the weight of an intruder's attempt to break a door in from the outside through sheer force. The deadbolt lock itself, at least a regular, run-of-the-mill deadbolt, can be picked just as easily as a regular lock." Walt had nearly finished unravelling the wire.

"Okay…and then what? What if we get the door open?" Jesse asked, and Walt sensed the smallest bit of excitement in his voice.

"We need to pick our moment, Jesse. If we rush out there now, we'll be shot in a matter of seconds. A thorough plan will be key to our survival. Are you familiar with the layout of this compound to any degree?"

"Yeah, I mean I know what's out beyond the door. There's, uh, a few bedrooms down to the left and a shower room, kind of like a locker room."

"What else, Jesse. Come on, it could be any minute detail that saves us."

"I don't know - those are the only places they've taken me in here…" He trailed off for a moment, putting his head in his hands. Walt looked down at him and very faintly patted him on the back, saying "It's okay, son." Jesse stiffened at his touch, and jammed his eyes shut. Surprised, Walt sat still as he looked into Jesse's face.

Jesse's mind shifted him to the last bedroom on the left in the hallway. There was years of cigarette smoke bleeding from the walls, making the room's smell acrid and stifling. The only light in the room came from a door ajar and an old digital radio blinking zeros in red. His head was buried so firmly into a pillow he struggled to breathe through his nose. He lifted himself up for a moment to draw in a deep breath, and was instantly pushed back down. A voice threatened, "This man's paid for the works now, ya hear? Don't you be stingy on him." Suddenly, the door slammed shut and he was engulfed in pitch black. Jesse's breath hitched and his chest tightened, panic shooting up through the soles of his feet.

"No…" Jesse muttered audibly.

Walt spoke with the calmest tone he could muster; he was imagining Jesse to be reliving one of countless horrors festering in his mind. "Jesse, I think you're having a flashback. Open your eyes and look in front of you. Tell me what you see."

"It's…black, everywhere is black. I can't see."

"Open your eyes and come back into the room here with me. I'm beside you and the lights are on. Tell me what you see. Look around."

Jesse sat deadly still with his eyes sewn shut. "Don't touch me," he murmured.

"Take a deep breath in…and then let it out. Open your eyes. Tell me what you see around you."

"Please don't make me do this," Jesse quietly spoke, visibly shaking.

Walt faltered for a moment as tears pooled in his eyes. The torment on Jesse's face burned his insides. He couldn't stand to watch and felt shame at wishing himself out of this situation. Fleetingly he thought that this must be his own purgatory. He tried to concentrate on bringing Jesse back into the present, but he could no longer bear to look at him. He kept his head bowed as he spoke. "Open your eyes Jesse, please, open them for me. Tell me what you see."

Through sobs, Jesse spoke as his eyes began to open, "There's uh…there's a bed, a bunk."

"Okay good, what colour is the blanket?"

"It's…it's uh, brown I guess." He sniffled and wiped his arm under his nose.

"Great and tell me, what is in the corner to the right of the bed? Tell me what it is and what it looks like."

"There's a…uh, a shitter made of silver there with a super small sink on top of it."

Quietly and reassuringly, Walt returned, "It's stainless steel, not silver. A silver toilet would oxidise and need constant polishing."

"Whatever, you know what I meant." Jesse was still sniffling and wiping away tears, but he had a hint of lightness return.

"Okay let's just stay in the room. What are you sitting on and who's sitting next to you?"

"I'm on a rock hard mattress on bunk bed thing and you're next to me." Jesse forced the words out in a lacrimose tone. In the next moment, he closed his eyes again and knelt forward, and to Walt it appeared as if he was in pain. He then made the most guttural, pained moan and slipped onto the floor on knees, holding himself up by one hand. With that, Walt no longer knew how to manage the situation. His previous experience of post-traumatic stress disorder had been in college, and was rather text-book in comparison to what was before him. Jesse's suffering was raw and unbridled as it unraveled before him and Walt felt disarmed. On the floor, Jesse began to dry heave. He was trembling and his nose running. He wiped under his nose again with his sleeve. Eventually, Jesse sat down on the floor and his breathing began to slow.

Something hit Walt like a bolt, and he stood up and stalked to the metal door. He began feverishly banging on the door with a curled fist. "Hey!" He yelled in the deepest Heisenbergian tone, "Open this door…now!"


	8. Chapter 8

Heisenberg kept pounding on the metal door while he shouted. "Open this door right now!" He pummeled the door once more and then stepped back, staring at the bare door intensely. Jesse had moved himself nearer to the commode and was braced with his back against the wall. His chest still heaved up and down.

The deadbolt slid out of place and the door opened only a few inches. A section of Todd's face became visible.

"Mr. White, you can't be like this. It's not going to help you."

"Todd, I have demands. My prisoner, which you have given to me in exchange for the cook, is in an unacceptable condition." Walt heightened his anger for effect; he wanted to appear like a merchant who had been tricked into buying sickly cattle.

"I need more water and some bread, and…I want new clothes for him, and clothes that fit, including socks and underwear. Bring me some towels, some soap and I want razor."

"I don't know if I can bring that you Mr. White. I mean, I don't have any problem with it, but Jack is only out for a little while longer now. If you get caught with the door open, there's no telling what he'll do to you."

Walt scoffed, "What will he do, Todd, kill me? Let him, and then you won't get your cook."

"He can do worse than kill you, Mr. White," Todd returned.

Walt changed tactics and softened himself, thinking it would exact greater influence on the young man. "Todd, please. Please just bring me what you can. He's no good to me as his is." Walt motioned with his hands to Jesse, who was looking woeful up against the wall.

With reluctance, Todd consented to find what he could and locked the door. He stood with his hand on the door for a minute thinking about the consequences of giving Mr. White what he had requested. There was every chance his Uncle would return home and catch him giving contraband to Mr. White. He could get a beating, but worse, his Uncle could kill Mr. White and Jesse, and then it would all be over. He'd be stuck on his own cooking sub-par methamphetamine with no chance of ever getting his purity to a level where Lydia would begin to respect him. Todd decided to act quickly and gather what things he could in the next ten minutes. He went to the farthest bedroom down the hallway to the left of the cell room where Walt and Jesse were being kept. The room was bathed in darkness until Todd flipped the overhead light on revealing its scant and windowless state. A single bulb came on that was hanging low from the ceiling on a black cable. The room held a double bed with ruffled bedding in sage green and a lone dresser pushed up against the far wall. Todd went straight to the dresser and began rifling through it, pulling out a black hoodie, t-shirt and jeans. He quickly left, shutting the light off, and jogged to the washroom at the end of the hall. It was large room with mint green tiles from floor to ceiling with several showers and stalls. He grabbed a grubby towel draped over a stall and a few hygiene items. He stalked back out and to the cell room, listening for the remotest sounds signalling his uncle had returned. Hearing nothing, he opened the door. "This is all I can give you, Mr. White."

Walt sat on his bunk beside the items Todd procured for him. He found he was successful in getting a set of clean clothes for Jesse, but no water or bread. They would have to make do with what water was left, and Walt hoped Jesse's illness was now passing. He walked over to the sink to fill it up with bubbly, soapy water. Jesse was still sitting with his back against the wall, his head tipped forward about a foot from the toilet. His eyes were shut and he had hand clutching his stomach. After filling up the sink with warm water, Walt crouched down in front of Jesse.

"The sink is filled for you to uh, freshen up. When you're ready there's even a razor here, but I'll – I'll just help you with the part." For once he was trying not to sound patronising, but he wasn't handing the razor to Jesse in his current state. Just as he stood up, the metal door flew open in a loud bang. Startled, Walt spun around to see Jack, Kenny, Todd and two other men leering in through the door frame.

"Grab him" Jack ordered, lighting a cigarette in his mouth. Kenny was first through the door jamb and sucker punched Walt in the stomach. As he doubled-over, he was dragged out by his arms. Todd stood expressionless looking around the room as he went to close the door. He noticed Jesse against the wall with his eyes screwed shut, but then turned to close the door.

Jesse had slipped into sleep sitting up against the wall. He was dreaming a rare dream of something beautiful. It was a near perfect replay of the best time he and Jane had ever fucked. Before they began shooting heroin, the sex was delectable and Jane insatiable. Every time had blown his mind but there was, like relationships past, one time that stood towering over the others. He was reliving it in stunning detail as he dreamed. He was lying with his back to his yellow-sheeted bed and Jane was on top of him, riding him and spewing out filth with almost every movement. She put a hand around his neck and clamped tightly. "You like to be fucked like this, don't you?"

He was shocked for a moment but felt himself grow that much harder inside of her. He braced himself with a hand against the headboard and he could just about draw in a breath. "Yeah…" he trailed out, panting as he held onto her waist with is other hand, guiding her gently. She grinned so wide her teeth showed. Never slowing her rhythm, she leaned in close to his right ear. "You are a fucking filthy whore." She bucked back up and giggled, taking her hand off his neck.

"Fuck…yeah," he moaned out in a low, grainy voice. Both his hands were on her hips forcing her down, and harder against him. She smiled again, running a hand through her hair. Then savagely, she slapped him across the face. Giggling, she ran her fingers back over the portion of his face she slapped. She dragged her fingers over his mouth before clenching his neck once again. He rubbed a hand against her pert breasts before grabbing her right breast and squeezing as hard as he could.

"Oh, fuck yeah!" She screamed out. "I'm gonna fucking come." She kept her hand hard against his throat as she writhed against him, coming in waves. She undulated against his chest and kissed at his face with every new wave that entered. Desire and lust were intoxicating him after watching and feeling her orgasm against him. He put his hands to her cheeks and brought her in close for a kiss. "You make me so fucking hard," he said, kissing her forcefully.

Panting and steadying her eyes into his, she said almost as a threat, "I'm going to make you come so hard you'll wish you were dead." Jesse's expression became quizzical for a moment and then cleared to something soft but serious. He ruffled his hair for a moment, suddenly a bit nervous. Jane moved off of him and centred herself between his legs. She split them apart and pushed them backward. Laughing with unease, Jesse asked, "What are you doing?"

"Shut up, whore," she returned, suppressing a smirk. Jesse pushed his head back against the pillow, shutting his eyes for a moment. She was incredible, he thought. She's everything to me right now. Sensuality swirled around him as an intense feeling of obsessive need for Jane lodged itself in his chest. He suddenly wanted more of her in any way possible. He needed to feel as close to her as possible. Jane put two fingers in her mouth and covered them in spit then put her other hand on his stomach. "Don't fucking move when I do this, stay still," she said.

"What…oh-" Jesse lost his words as she entered him. He was filled with momentary panic, but as she began to gently fuck him, panic gave way to a novel form of ecstasy. He felt himself involuntarily moving in time with her.

"Yeah, that's it, my filthy little slut. Show me you like it," Jane grinned. He moaned in a loud, revealing fashion as she ramped up her rhythm and pressure. The sensation was so intense and satisfying, he was losing all control of himself. Overwhelmed, he sucked on his own finger. Jane looked at him and smiled greedily,

"You are such a little slut for me, aren't you?" Her words were becoming gospel to him as he gave himself over to the filthiest feelings of rapture. He was grinding back on her with no self-consciousness and could feel the release beginning to build.

"Yeah, that's it, uh-huh." Jane was relishing every moment. He had lost all control and was under her power. "Come for me, my filthy slut boy." She trailed her free hand down towards his cock but had no intention of touching it.

"God…" he trailed off as he reached his peak. He began to unravel, unbounded in pure ecstasy. He yelled out, swore, writhed every which way, one hand grasping the headboard and the other clasping Jane's hand, pinching and squeezing it.

"You're gorgeous when you come," Jane said with some reverence, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

He reached out to touch her face and open his eyes, but suddenly he couldn't. His eyes opened in startle, and he was back in the room, cold and alone. The dream was over and the only scrap of it left were his dirtied shorts. "Fuck…" he said to himself, uncomfortably shifting against the wall. Bits of the evening came back to him and he remembered Mr. White had put on some sort of ego display to get him soap and new clothes. He had no idea why he did that, other than, he guessed, whole-hearted pity at the state of him, but he was now thankful. He stood up and remade a warm, soapy sink of water for himself. He undressed and began to wash using the old towel. After several sinks, he felt a modicum of cleanliness that he hadn't felt in weeks. He hadn't been granted a shower since the last time they sold a few hours of his time. He went to the bunk and began to put on the new set of clothes. He couldn't begin to guess whose clothes they were because they were only a size too big for him. As he lifted the hoodie, something plastic fell to floor. He put on the hoodie then looked down, and it was then he saw it lying there, waiting for him: it was the razor. Adrenaline and panic washed through him in equal measures. He slumped to the bunk not taking his eyes off the razor. If I really went for it, he thought, this could be it. It could even be a distraction for Walt to try and enact whatever outrageous scheme it was he had going. His breathing sped up and he could feel himself moving without thinking. He picked up the razor and brought it close to his face. It was a twin blade, cheap-as-shit Bic razor. He'd have to take it apart to get anywhere with it. He went into autopilot and tried to break apart the head of the razor. Within a moment he had cut the tip of his ring finger. It felt like piercing the skin of a grape; he only felt an ache followed by a throbbing once he saw blood beading out. He stared at it, stilled.

Walt was lying starkly against the cold floor of the clubhouse's main room with his hands tied behind his back. His face was smashed up against the filthy parquet flooring and his glasses were beginning to fall away from his face. He had suffered a few punches and hits, but nothing punishing. He was uncomfortable and annoyed that his glasses may tumble completely from his face, but mostly glad that he was back in the room with his keys. He could see the key rack from the floor and his bright red key chain still hung there. Too many days had passed for him to be certain the Cadillac remained where he left it, but it didn't matter. If the M60 failed to hit any of Jack and his crew, the sound of the shots would provide a distraction at the very least. It could give the impression they were being attacked and give Walt time to abscond with Jesse. Jack was tracing around him as he lay there with a handful of men scattered throughout, including Kenny and Todd. Todd was slinking around the back of the room, quiet and observant.

"Walter White, you are tryin' your luck 'round here," Jack started. His hair was slicked against his skull and his skin grimy. His eyes were cold but the rest of his face was laced with a grin. "I have been arguing with myself about killing you. If it wasn't for the habit of having that rat bitch of yours around, I would've done it already."

Jack stood with the boot of his right foot squared to Walt's face. He dropped the cigarette he finished, which landed within mere inches of Walt. Jack raised his foot and snubbed it out, grinding it into the wooden floor. "We've become accustomed to guests it seems. I never thought I'd hear myself say that." Jack looked around to his men, eliciting chuckles.

"The truth is Walt, I've been talking to some people. And it seems you might be worth a pretty, little penny to the right buyer."

Walt's eyes darted up to Jack, whose boot was still lined up to his face.

"So you ain't dying yet and yer still gonna cook with Toddy. Make him happy as a clam. But, you can't be carrying on the way you did tonight. I did you a gentleman's deal, Walt. I gave you that dirty rat as a gift to a dying man since you were so obliging to Todd. You can't go taking advantage of Todd's kindly nature when I'm not around."

Walt was working quickly to process everything Jack was laying out to him. It seemed he would have more time than he thought, but that he would need to guard against being taken from the compound. He would not let himself be sold off into under belly of the world, where a fate worse than death surely would meet him. Walt was horrified at that prospect, but he was more concerned about his penance for the charade to get Jesse clean.

"Boys, put him in the chair and bring out the thumbscrew," Jack said with finality. Walt was raised by two men who proceeded to unbind his wrists. They placed him in a leather recliner in the middle of the room.

Walt narrowed his eyes to Jack. "You're going to break a dying man's thumb…for what? Because the prisoner you gave me was in a disgusting state?" Walt's stomach flitted around with nervous apprehension, and he was deeply annoyed.

"Walt, I have to do something. I can't have you thinkin' you can do what you like." Jack leaned into Walt, lowering his voice, "Besides, it's bad for morale if I don't go the whole nine yards. You understand me, don't you?"

Walt scoffed and shook his head into a nod. He did understand, but was angry at this turn of events. He wasn't frightened of the pain though he hardly looked forward to it, but it was an extra aggravation impeding his mission. One more gruesome event distracting from why he came to the compound in the first place. Kenny approached with the thumbscrew, which was unsurprisingly medieval in its appearance. Kenny lowered himself to one knee and grabbed for Walt's right hand, and he yanked it away.

"Go for his left, Kenny. He'll need his right for cooking with Todd," Jack interjected.

Walt offered over his left hand and Kenny wedged the thumb into the vice snuggly, testing its tightness. He looked up to Walt's eyes, who returned his gaze with defiance instead of fear. Kenny's eyes widened and he lost his balance for a moment. He shifted to both knees and looked away from Walt to concentrate on the thumbscrew. He began to twist the vice's knob. Pain seared down through Walt's thumb into his hand and wrist. It was excruciating and he worked to muffle his gasps. Soon, he couldn't contain himself and began to yell out as Kenny wound the vice ever tighter. As the vice's knob turned one last time, he felt an exquisite crushing pressure that gave way to a release of sorts. Walt yelled as the vice was quickly loosened and removed. It was fractured, and a perfect match for the nose he was sure was broken, he thought.

"Put him in the corner boys, just in case I think of something else." Jack said, replacing Walt's seat in the leather recliner while Kenny and another man dragged him to the furthest corner of the room. They pushed him down into the corner and tied his hands and feet together, attaching the two together to ensure Walt's movement was restricted. His view was now of the pool table predominantly, and the back of the room. He settled into the corner and began trying to memorize the room to aid in his plotting. Suddenly, he remembered Jesse and the razor. His stomach sank to a oceanic depth. He had made a huge mistake in requesting that razor, he thought with a clarity he wished he'd had before. The outcome he was imagining felt like a promise and he thought for a moment that maybe this would be better. It would be a horror to see the blood and Jesse's lifeless body, but Jesse would have been delivered into the void he longed for. Walt sighed as his eyes faintly welled up. This was the moment, he thought: either I get to that room right now, _somehow_ , or I stay here silently and let him die.


	9. Chapter 9

Walt pried open his tightly shut eyes and inhaled a deeply. Jack and a smattering of his men were concentrated on the other side of the room as they viewed the television, draped over seats smoking. Todd stood silently against the wall across from Walt seemingly uninterested in in the men's entertainment. Todd looked across to Walt with his familiar expression of stunted curiosity. Walt raised an eyebrow and began moving his head in a subdued ebb and flow in an attempt to beckon Todd closer without drawing the attention of the others. His uncle and his men still engrossed in something, Todd quietly drifted towards Walt and pretended to be racking up the pool table.

"Todd, Todd…" Walt began with a breathy voice.

"Shhh, Mr. White. What is it?" Todd started putting balls into the wooden triangle.

"Jesse…he's got the razor. He's in that room alone."

Todd's eyes went wide as he registered what Walt was telling him. His hands left the pool table and he quietly left the room without speaking another word, only raising a finger to his mouth to signal Walt to keep quiet. Walt settled back against the wall and contemplated what may come next. He knew he would need to make it to the key rack, but tied as he was the only practical way to get there would be to inch-worm across the room by his ass and feet. Minutes stretched into tens of minutes, and Walt relented, resting his head against the wall. Perhaps it was already too late for Jesse and if that were true, he could only hope the number of men in the room may peter out and give him a fighting chance to worm his way to his keys. If an opportunity didn't stretch out before him now, it could be days before another one presented itself. He would likely have to wait until Todd called upon him for one last cook. It would be one last cook before he could be sold to the highest bidder, and that was a fate he would not accept over death. There would be no time to lament over the events of the present concerning Jesse. A cold wave ran through him from top to tail, and he nearly shuddered trying to shrug it out. It felt like a final cruelty to the man, but Walt resigned himself to using this situation to his benefit at any cost.

As the minutes stretched past an hour, impatience began roiling him. There were no clamourings from the small concrete room and he had expected some sort of audible development to emanate rather quickly. Walt slid himself along the wall towards the door frame while keeping himself below the height of the pool table. He hoped he remained out of the direct eye line of the men present. As he moved up against the door frame he peeked his head around and stared at the door to the room. The hallway was dark and hazy from migrating smoke and only slivers of light draped the door, which remained shut. He scanned the light for signs of movement and saw none. His eyes fixated on a dark, murky amorphous body where the door met the floor. Soon he could see dampened light shining over a crimson wave. Walt jerked back against the door frame, swallowing hard against a lump forming in his throat. He's gone, Walt thought. An image of Jesse formed in his mind in that instant; it was him sitting atop his toilet draped in oversized clothing clutching a glass pipe. He had been trying to smoke a sample of the first batch of crystal they made together, and it was the first time Walt had forcibly stopped Jesse from getting high. Jesse had railed back it him, trying to kick him, but Walt managed to stop him from getting high. The image of him sitting there thinking nothing of smoking their product had always returned to Walt. It had informed him and cemented his perception of Jesse as an imbecilic junkie. A macabre chuckle nearly escaped Walt as he grinned a darkly wicked grin. He knew so little of the person dead in the other room, and the stupendous innocence he had exuded that day remained nestled inside of Walt as a impression unchanged despite the complications of their partnership, as Walt thought of them. The tortuous reality Jesse lived this past year would die with him now, and Walt conceded he would rather remember him from that day so long ago for whatever short life he had left.

Blood was flowing out of the room at an eerily slow pace, and Walt kept stealing glances of its path as he sat solemnly. Eventually, Jack stood up and stretched, lighting a cigarette as he walked toward the pool table. He narrowed his eyes on Walt with a menacing glimmer. "You make yourself comfortable over here, slave?" He said with laugh, amusing himself greatly.

"Very comfortable," Walt returned in a low growl. He looked up at Jack with intent. "Where's Todd?"

Jack glanced around the room for a moment slightly surprise that he hadn't noticed his nephew's departure. Dragging on his cigarette, "He's about, Walt. Frankie! Kenny! Find Todd and get the rat would ya."

Looking back to Walt he eyed him suspiciously, "What's yer problem?"

"No problem here," Walt returned with the tail-end of a smirk registering in the right corner of his mouth. Let there be chaos, he prayed to himself. Let Heisenberg's final act begin.

Frankie immediately shot up from his seat and hastily made his way out of the front door of the clubhouse in search of Todd. Kenny stood up and began to make his way across the room. Jack eyeballed him as he crossed the room toward the room that held Jesse. Walt sensed a hint of disapproval as Jack looked down his nose at Kenny. As Kenny made his way into the hallway, he stopped and swore, "What the shit is this?"

Blood pooled around his boots and he lifted them one by one. Seemingly unperturbed, he proceeded into the room and the door slammed rapidly behind him. Jack walked forward taking in the sight of the blood. He chuckled to himself, "That pathetic asshole finally did it. Well I'll be!"

He paced back past Walt and grabbed a bottle of whiskey the men had sipped on earlier, and planted it firmly on the pool table. "We'll have to pour one out for that sad son of a bitch. Todd's gonna be pretty disappointed." Jack shook his head again and swigged from the bottle before passing it to Walt, who took it in both his hands. Scowling up at Jack, he drank in spite of himself.

Suddenly, Frankie returned in a huff to the clubhouse. "I can't find Todd any place. Where's he got to?" he exclaimed, out of breath.

"Whaddya mean you can't find Todd?" Jack returned, grasping the whiskey bottle tightly.

Todd opened the door and stepped inside the cell. As he shut the door and turned around, a black cord slammed against his throat and jerked him back against his attacker. Jesse was wild on adrenaline as he pulled the ends of the cord across one another. Todd dropped to his knees and Jesse followed, pulling tighter as Todd pawed at the cord in vain. An unending drive was pulsating through Jesse as he pulled the cord ever tighter. The gasps escaping from Todd's mouth only spurred him further as he fed off the other man's pain. Gracelessly, he grabbed both ends of the cord in one hand, yanking back violently to make up for the momentary loss of tension. With his free hand, he reached to his side to grab the razor blades beside him. He jerked Todd's head back to his shoulder and looked down into his bulging eyes. Raising the razors to his throat, Jesse said "I'll see you there," and dragged the razor into his flesh as deeply as he could. He watched as the blood spurted then slopped out, and his fingers felt his slippery, chicken-skin throat as he continued to open him up. As he reached the other side of his throat, he dug in further and sawed at everything he felt, feeling needy to ensure Todd had no chance of living. Dropping the razor to his side he held Todd against himself for a moment watching the blood continue to slip and pulse out. As he began to feel sated, he pushed Todd off his body to the floor and then kicked him towards the door with the blood pooling around the body quickly.

Jesse sat back and put a hand on the bunk beside him. His hands were both dripping red with Todd's blood, and his front was soaked through. Panting heavily, he revelled in what he just did. His synapses were firing like he pounded back copious lines and he felt almost orgasmic. He watched the growing amount of blood and it contented him as a constant affirmation that his host in Hell had finally been killed. As he continued to stare, he suddenly had the need to pose his body. He lowered himself to all fours and grabbed one of Todd's arms to drag him out of the opening radius of the door. He laid Todd on his back to the right of the door and scooted over to lift up his head. He twisted it unnaturally back and towards the door, lingering as he held his head. He dropped himself back to the other side of Todd's body and sat back on his knees. Jesse waved some of the ever growing blood pool under the door, hoping it would now naturally flow in that direction. Still and staring down, he took his left hand and placed it wholly in the pool of blood. The blood was warm, like the thickest, coziest bath water imaginable.

Eventually, Jesse's mind clicked into his next move: he needed to wait in a state of readiness for the next person to come through the door. He grabbed the cord and placed the razors beside himself near the wall behind the door. He sat against the wall with legs bent as his breaths dragged in and out. He was flying.

After an expanse of time, the door opened and Kenny entered. His eyes followed the ocean of blood leading him to Todd, who was staring directly back at Kenny in a macabre fashion. Horrified, he bent down to ensure Todd wasn't breathing, which allowed the door to close behind him. As Kenny raised himself, he slowly turned to see Jesse standing behind him covered in blood. Shocked at the sight, Kenny said, "What have you done?"

"You can't find Toddy anywhere? Not even in the lab? You know he just sits in there sometimes, on his lonesome," Jack was saying to Frankie, still dragging on his cigarette.

"No, boss. He ain't anywhere I saw," Frankie returned.

"Hell," Jack said, glancing to the room. "Where'd the boy had run off to this time? He best not be watching Kenny with that rat again. He's turning into an almighty loathsome creep, makes my blood boil." Frankie merely nodded. "You follow me now as I do a sweep, I best not be finding him out there." Jack said with some resignation as he dropped his cigarette. He left Walt where he was as he and Frankie left the building, the front door swinging to slam shut behind the two. Walt suddenly found himself in the clubhouse room with just one of Jack's henchmen, a nondescript gentleman in a hoodie sitting in a leather recliner facing away from where Walt sat. This moment would have to to be it, Walt thought to himself. He began to very quietly inch against the wall, ass following behind his feet, towards the key rack. He would need to follow the walls of the room without drawing attention to himself.

He scooted his ass along at a quick pace and neared the first corner. As long as Jack didn't come back too quickly, it could work. As he crossed it, cigarette butts and other detritus collected under his ass, but he could only wiggle a bit away in haste. He cleared the corner and kept going. He clanged into a small shelf causing some change and papers to fall off. Walt lifted his head to see the henchman in the recliner. The man stirred for a moment and Walt lowered himself to the floor trying to look as small and unnoticeable as possible. As the man sat back and reclined further in his chair, Walt exhaled with relief. He steadied himself to inch farther forward. As he came upon the entrance, he contemplated how he would get the keys off the rack without the full use of his hands.

Jesse stared into Kenny with wide eyes. He had become almost animalistic as his rage and need for ultimate vengeance consumed him. He ached to end Kenny's life as brutally as he possibly could. Razors in his hand, he stepped forward and penetrated Kenny's stomach with great force then wriggled the double razor shiv around to cause excruciating pain. Shocked at Jesse's actions and suddenly engulfed in pain, Kenny swore and threw Jesse away and into the wall. Thwarted only momentarily, he dived back to Kenny grabbing his throat as his right hand worked its way under Kenny's shirt for better access to his stomach. As adrenaline fuelled Jesse's surprising strength, Kenny's eyes bulged with shock as he gasped for air. Before Kenny had a chance to rip his hand off his neck, Jesse dug his razors half an inch deep into the top of Kenny's stomach and began slowly dragging them across his flesh. A high-pitched scream emanated from within Kenny and Jesse immediately moved his hand from his neck to cover his mouth. When he reached the middle of Kenny's stomach, he stopped and pressed into him hard, looking directly into his eyes. Jesse leaned his face into Kenny's, his lips hovering close.

"Death looks _incredible_ on you..." And with that Jesse closed his eyes and dug down into Kenny, ripping his stomach open. He dropped the razors and pushed Kenny backwards and the man fell, unceremoniously toppling onto Todd's body.

Jesse stood back from the bodies lying in front of him. His hands were now drenched in blood. He raised a hand and began to rub his forehead leaving a smear of blood across it. His eyes were dry and as clear as ice. Panting, euphoria was returning to his body making him feel invincible. Todd, the guide to his misery, was dead before him and atop him laid the slain monster. The man who had taken the last precious thing he held within himself after everything Walt took, after Jack's violent pillage. He was elated and flying high on all manner of bodily responses. He needed a gun, he thought, and then he could kill the rest.

His invincibility led him to calmly consider venturing out of the room in search of a firearm. Quietly, he opened the door a few inches in order to slip through. He gingerly shut it behind himself as he began to slink down the hallway, traipsing in the swaths of pooled blood. Walking down the hall his eyes fixated on the last room on the left. He opened the door inaudibly and flicked on the light. The image of the room stirred an abysmal feeling deep inside him, but he propelled himself forward to the dresser on his reserves of euphoria. He quickly rifled and pawed through each drawer to no avail.

Jesse sat down on the edge of the bed, and reassured himself that he knew at some point he had seen a gun in this room. His memory remained fuzzy, a symptom of repressing the events from the room and while the rush of energy still carried him forward, the euphoria was slipping away and replacing itself with a deep dread. He had to remember to solve this puzzle, but remembering was a dangerous game. He couldn't trust his perceptions once he started remembering. Like what had happened in front of Walt in the cell, he was prone to losing touch with reality and being transported to live in the events of the past. He felt he had to risk it, and so he journeyed to a feeling residing in him that gave way to a memory. He was suddenly strapped to the bed and a man was dressing himself opposite him. His pillow was wet from tears and sweat and he was exhausted. As the man left, Kenny appeared before him. The room seemed darker than before and he could only see Kenny's eyes and the outlines of his body as he moved. His hands were on him and it felt good, but inside Jesse was screaming. At some point Kenny stuck a hand between the mattresses and pulled out a gun. Trying to leave his memory, Jesse sunk to the ground and started routing around in between the mattresses. Just as his hand clasped a handgun, a hail of bullets rang out over top of him. Hitting the floor, Jesse held the gun tight to his chest while bullets rained over him.


	10. Chapter 10

Walt was lying on his back with a mound of keys piled atop his chest. He had successfully head-butted the key rack off the wall and was wriggling his hands around to grab the red key fob that could allow him one last victory. As his hands dripped sweat in anticipation of seizing it, Jack's dormant henchman was finally stirred from the recliner by the cacophony of it all. Walt knew it was an unavoidable consequence, and that now he needed to act fast.

"What in the Hell are you doin'?" the henchman called out as he emerged from his seat. He stalked a few steps toward Walt, and looked at him with dismayed, wide-eyes. "You are one sorry motherfucker, aren't you?" he continued as he leaned down to grab the key rack from Walt's stomach.

"I fell…I fell into the wall," Walt began to stammer out, hoping that the henchman would believe him. His fingers writhed through the mass of keys in search of his own. He threw aside rejects as he went.

"You need to get the fuck back over there. Against the wall. Can't be fucking all over here when Jack gets back." The henchman gingerly lifted the key rack from Walt, and stared back at him with a curious look. Shaking his head, he turned away and began an attempt to rehang the rack, dragging it up and down the wall trying to catch the nails already present. Relieved at the man's distraction, Walt looked to the ball of keys atop him. He saw the unmistakable point of his red key fob and grabbed it it tenderly. For only a few minutes longer Walt needed to cradle his keys, and as he waited he had a flicker of hope that Jack and the other missing men would reenter the clubhouse in time to be slaughtered. He began inching himself towards the back of the room as the lone henchman was focused on returning the fallen keys to the rack. Walt reached the back wall and lowered himself to his side in order to hide the keys from sight. Just as he settled, Frankie returned to the clubhouse breathlessly from jogging across the compound. He stood embracing the doorway of the entrance for a minute and asked, "You seen Todd in here? I can't find that boy any which way."

"He ain't in here. Just the old man banging into shit while I'm trying to watch my stories." Frankie and the henchman looked back to Walt who had managed to drape himself pathetically on the floor with a pained expression across his face, eyes barely open.

"What's his problem?" Frankie asked.

"I'm just…tired. I've been tied up for hours…and I- I need rest," Walt interjected in the raspiest voice he could find.

"Well you ain't going nowhere so get comfortable where you is," Frankie returned as he walked across the room towards the pool table. The other henchman had returned to his recliner to smoke a cigarette, and although Walt's head rested back on the floor, he watched out of the corner of his eyes, delighted to see the men dispersed. Now was the time to press the button. Todd and Kenny would hopefully be drawn out from Jesse's tomb by the shots, or hit by bullets through the walls. My god, he thought to himself; this is how it all ends. Walt closed his eyes as he clutched the red key fob with both hands against his chest, and a warmth spread over him. Skyler, Holly and Junior floated through his head; sweet images of breakfasts in early mornings' light interwove with the sensation of closeness with Skyler. In a tiny corner of his mind, a quiet thought began to swell. Jesse…that unfortunate, inept boy. As the warmth encompassed him, he held the idea of Jesse at peace somewhere in the ether of his thoughts. He was no man of faith, but journeying toward death had brought the comfort of a inexplicable belief: that the essence of a person was something beyond biology and chemistry. It wasn't logical, but he thought that the very being of someone, the unique energy of a person, must reside somewhere after death. Jesse's being was incorrigible and dark at its core, but his spirit trusting and hopeful when given the smallest ounce of encouragement. Walt smiled as he allowed himself to remember Jesse's energy and the feeling of being with him. Mark Twain's 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…' rattled through his mind. He took in a deep breath and opened his eyes momentarily. It was time to move forward regardless of the consequences. Walt pressed the button on the fob and rolled on to his stomach, smashing his head against the floor. He suddenly felt he couldn't get close enough to the floor to feel safe. He flattened himself as best he could as the M60 ripped to life. The sound of the rounds discharging was deafening, but Walt couldn't cover his ears. He couldn't see Frankie and the henchman become riddled with bullets to the point they were nearly sawn in half. The bullets tore through the room for a solid minute and Walt could hear ricochets. He knew it was possible he could be hit, and part of him wanted it.

The bullets had stopped discharging for a few minutes and silence hung in the air. Jesse had his back planted against the floor and still clutched the handgun tightly to his chest. His mind had enveloped him in safe pocket somewhere between the memory he rooted through to find the handgun, and the present. He didn't recognize the bullets as the discharge of the M60 by Walt; in fact his brain had pushed all traces of Walt out for the time being, and it felt bumpered in thick wool. Thoughts bounced around into one another but he couldn't grasp the entirety of one thought clearly. He knew where he was, but the flow of events had been ruptured. He felt a blank void when he tried to remember where he was before this room. _How long had he been in this room and where was Kenny now?_ He tried to slow his breathing in order to focus his thoughts. Nothing was clear, but he had the overwhelming sense that there was an immediate threat to his life. After minutes of silence, Jesse sat up taking the gun into his right hand. He began scanning the room: _was anyone else in here with him? Would Kenny come bursting through the door?_ He slowly stood up and pointed the gun around the room until he was satisfied he was alone. He felt sweaty and overheated, but also damp. He rubbed his head and his fingers felt wet. He began rubbing both hands against his legs, but every part of him appeared moist. He looked down to his hands and body, and froze. His hands and clothes were drenched in blood and were a deep shade of crimson. _Was this real?_ He couldn't be sure. He shook his head from side to side and began patting his chest and arms to check for wounds with his exhalations quickening and becoming louder. He didn't feel any pain, and but couldn't be sure the blood wasn't his. With the gun still in hand, he moved to slowly shut off the room's light and open the door. Kenny could be out there, or any of Jack's men just hovering by the room chancing it for a turn. He shuddered, and shook off the thought. He would kill whomever crossed his path on the way out of this Hellhole. He looked down at his bloodied clothes again, and felt spurred to move forward.

As he slinked into the hallway, the smell of gunpowder became heavier. He could see a straight line of dozens of bullet holes across the wall to the right. His mind attempted to imagine a possible culprit for such a devastating shoot-out. Perhaps an enemy of the Aryan Brotherhood somehow made its way inside the compound. It seemed so unlikely, but surely these men created enemies wherever they went. As he continued down the hallway nearing the main room, he saw the swathes of blood running out of the room to the left. Both that metal door and this room were hauntingly familiar to him. A chill crawled up his spine and into his shoulders. Without considering it, Jesse walked to the door and quietly opened it, pointing his gun through the door. As the door opened he caught site of the bloody, grotesque bodies of Todd and Kenny piled on top of one another against the far wall. Kenny's intestines had spilled out of his abdomen and were draped on Todd and the floor. The amount of blood was enormous and left Jesse standing stunned as a flash erupted in his mind. The sensation of his hand in the hot, murky cavity of Kenny's abdomen as he stared into the man's eyes overtook him. He gasped, and grabbed for the door to keep himself upright. He killed them…he killed both of them, Jesse thought. He swallowed hard and dry as he trembled against the door. He knew he should be pleased they were dead, but the confusion was scaring him. He had no sense of time, nor place. He couldn't be sure what was in front of him was real, and it was beginning to make him feel ill. Stomach churning and nausea roiling, he was lightheaded and struggling to concentrate. Glimpses of memories jutting into and out of his mind seemed to play on a loop: Kenny with a gun against him on the bed, a hail of bullets whizzing over top of him, his hands sitting in a hot pool of blood. He couldn't order the memories and it was frustrating. He looked to the river of blood running out of the room, and he needed to touch it. He knelt down and brushed his fingers along the river, and then he sunk in his whole left hand into it, letting the liquid lap up over him as he closed his eyes. The hot wetness of Kenny's innards seethed in him, and he let out a slight and quiet grunt. He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at his hand. The blood wasn't warm enough, he thought. It didn't give him the high he expected it to, not realizing he was mimicking his own actions from less than an hour earlier. He retracted his hand, and stood up backing out of the room. There was a familiar bloodlust bubbling up in him again and Jesse welcomed it; he let it fill all the holes in his being. He was set on the destruction of anyone who should cross his path.

He entered the clubhouse room and saw Frankie's corpse draped over the pool table. His blood was soaked into the felt of the table, and his chest and abdomen were so torn by bullets his body appeared ravaged by a wild cat. Jesse pointed his gun as he scanned across the room. He saw the back of a lifeless figure oscillating in the now vibrating recliner chair, and so he swiftly and soundlessly moved across the room to turn off the chair's vibration lest it attract more attention. With an eagerness, he tallied the four dead in his head. He couldn't be sure how many men were in the compound at a given time, but one key figure was missing: Jack. At least, he thought, his death could be mine to savour. As Jesse switched off the chair, he heard a rustling from the back of the room.

"You're alive…" Walt trailed off, his jaw agape from the floor. He was still tied at the hands and feet, and lying on the filthy floor.

Shocked and guarded, Jesse stood for a moment pointing his gun across the room. That voice, he thought…it couldn't be. He stammered out, "Mr. White…?"

"Jesse I thought…I thought you were gone."

Jesse cautiously moved around to get a look; he needed to see him with his own eyes to believe he was there. He looked down upon Walt, who was in a heap against the wall, and could see the rope around his hands and feet appearing painfully bound. Mr. White was looking at him with uncanny eyes - they were wider than he had ever seen them. Walt began writhing around on the floor, straining to get a better view of him.

"You're – oh god. Is that…your blood?" A look of horror crawled across Walt's face as he sucked in a breath. Jesse moved only a couple steps forward before shakily raising his gun to steady it on him.

"How did you get in here?" Jesse asked in a course, wavering voice.

Walt's face wrinkled as he stared at Jesse quizzically. He began to speak slowly in calm tones. "What do you mean…Jesse?"

Jesse shook his head and blinked out tears. _Why was Mr. White here now? Was he here to ensure I died?_ He tried again as his voice raised and cracked, eyes glistening, "I don't understand what you're doing in here. Were you, were you here the whole time? Did you make them do all those things to me?"

Walt craned his neck to look back up into Jesse's eyes. "No, Jesse, I've been trying to protect you. Don't you remember? I've been helping you stay safe. I got you those clothes…and the razor. Jesse, what did you do with the razor?"

Jesse looked down at his clothes soiled with blood. A sensation of digging the razor into Kenny's abdomen rippled through him. The razor had become so hot and slippery in his hand that he had gripped it so fiercely he could feel it puncturing his own hand. Losing his focus as he lived in those sensations, he struggled to keep the gun on Walt. His eyes blurred, and he rubbed a hand against his forehead leaving macabre smear of blood behind. A distinct metallic taste and smell started to overwhelm him, and so he coughed and sputtered.

Walt scrunched his face as he watched this play out, but then cleared as he spoke with determination. "Untie me, Jesse. And I can help you."

Jesse looked back at him pointing the gun squarely at his chest. He blinked, and said nothing.

"Jesse, untie these ropes for me. I'm not going to hurt you. Just do as I say." Walt repeated, looking directly into Jesse's eyes. Their steely blue was clouded over and distant.

"How do I know you're not going to kill me?" Jesse breathed out in a low growl. His energy was fading rapidly, but he was working to ignore it. He couldn't let himself slip up now, he'd come too far in this nightmare, and to succumb to Mr. White would be make his suffering for the past year all for nothing.

Fervently, Walt raised his voice and craned his neck as far as it would reach. "Jesse, look at me. I'm not going to hurt you. You know this. Untie me, now, before Jack gets back here with Kenny and Todd."

Looking back at him, a hint of recognition returned to Jesse's face. Walt continued, "That's right Jesse, the clock is ticking here. I need you to do this for me so that I can save us both." Jesse stared, and then slowly dropped to his knees to inch toward Walt. He felt himself give in to obeying Walt, but he still had the gun, and that's how he wished it to stay. He began untying the rope at Walt's wrists.

Walt watched Jesse silently as he struggled to untie him. As he finally pulled a critical thread free to unravel the knot, Walt asked quietly, "Are you hurt, Jesse?"

"I don't think so," Jesse returned, not looking up from the task. He balanced his grip on the gun before tugging harder on the rope.

Walt kept his eyes on Jesse cautiously. "Where were you before you came in here and found me?"

Jesse freed Walt's hands, and then slumped back cradling the gun in his lap as Walt moved to untie his own ankles. "Jesse, where were you before you found me? Just now," Walt pressed.

Staring deep into the carpet, Jesse began, "I was in that back room, there was a gun."

Walt looked curiously at the gun in Jesse's lap. "What gun, Jesse? Your gun? Who was holding the gun?"

"It was Kenny, he had it…on me. And then I took it, or I found it. I just…I don't know. I'm not sure." Jesse rubbed his head, and then patted his hair through the congealing blood on his hands. His face and hair were becoming layered in blood with each touch.

Walt was now free of his binds, and sitting up slowly while keeping his eyes on Jesse, whose gaze was averted downward. He moved his hand towards Jesse's lap, but as soon as his hand hovered near the gun, Jesse's face shot up, followed by the gun.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jesse said staring at him intently.

"Jesse, give me the gun," Walt ordered.

Jesse stood up and backed away from Walt, shaking with a low and raspy voice. "No way…what are you trying to do?"

Walt stood, grasping his lower back momentarily as he adjusted to being vertical. He took a careful step towards Jesse and began, "Nothing, Jesse I'm not trying to _do_ anything. I think you're not in a very good place right now, and you should give me the gun. I think maybe you've hurt yourself, and you really should hand over the gun _now,_ to me, so I can help you."

Jesse stepped backward as Walt inched towards him. He bumped the recliner with his lower back, which urged him to snake towards the entrance. Full of anguish, he growled, "I can't… _trust you_ right now."

Walt followed him slowly as they moved inch by inch closer to the entrance. He held his hands up and moved in step with Jesse, pleading with him. "Jesse, listen to me! You're not _thinking_ straight. Give me the gun, _now_ and we can escape this place right now, together."

Jesse stopped moving, and a change mounted in his eyes. Walt implored, "We can leave here _now_ , just _give me the gun_."

Jesse steadied the gun as he held it on Walt. The man's beady eyes were looking back into him, trying to persuade him, but he wasn't about to fall into Walt's appeal for trust. Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted by a thud at the entrance. He and Walt whipped their heads around expecting to see someone in the doorway. Within a moment, a booted figure with a shotgun stepped into the light. Jack was in the doorway holding a shotgun from his chest.

"Well, what the fuck do we have going on here?"


	11. Chapter 11

"You really are two of the sorriest sons of bitches goin', aren't ya?" Jack chuckled to himself as he cocked his shotgun. He centered it on Jesse, whose gun was steeled back at him. Jack stepped further into the room from the entrance never letting his focus leave Jesse as he began addressing Walt. "I don't know how you pulled this one off, Walt, but I'm not fucking amused. Where's Todd?"

Walt stammered struggling over his next move. He found he was the only one without a weapon and felt naked. He wanted to spur Jesse to shoot first because that shotgun's wrath would be final. Looking over to Jesse, Walt's apprehension only grew. The distance lurking in Jesse's eyes seemed to be growing into an expanse. Although he was holding the gun squarely on Jack, there was something markedly different about him: he wasn't trembling and struggling to hold the gun up, or panting through adrenaline sailing over his fear. There was instead an eerie calm in his stance, and a seriousness in his face Walt had never seen. This behaviour coupled with his ghastly, bloodied appearance worried Walt. That blood wasn't Jesse's, he was sure of this now. _What had he done?_

Staring back at Jack, Jesse swallowed thickly. An air of invincibility layered itself atop his words as he spoke. "I ripped open his throat. Do you wanna see?" A chill ran through Walt.

Jack lowered his shotgun a couple of inches as his jaw slackened. He took one step forward, and lifted the shotgun, squinting an eye to start taking his aim at Jesse. He seethed, "I'm gonna blow your motherfucking head off."

As Jack balanced the shotgun to take aim, Jesse raised his slender handgun less than an inch and pulled the trigger. His shot hit Jack like a bolt in the right side of his forehead. Jack's head flicked backwards as the echo of the shot hung in the air. His body crumpled and dropped to the floor with the shotgun eliciting a muffled clatter as it hit the floor. Walt exhaled in hitches as he blinked hard. He was thrown by how quickly Jesse had acted. His hand was nearly melded into his chest during the exchange, and as he caught his breath, he flung his hand away, surprised by himself.

Jesse moved toward Jack's body immediately. The man lay lifeless with his jaw hanging wide open, tongue sliding out, as blood trickled out of the hole in his forehead. Staring down at him, Jesse delicately sunk to his knees and coasted the hand still clenching the gun up Jack's chest towards his face. He didn't notice Walt quietly stepping toward him angling for the shotgun. As he reached Jack's face, Jesse put a hand on its right side and twisted his head nearer. He pushed the barrel of his gun inside Jack's mouth.

Walt managed to pick up the shotgun without Jesse noticing. He held it against his left side as he moved to peer over Jesse's shoulder. As the ghoulish scene came into focus, Walt stilled. "Stop whatever you are doing, Jesse…he's dead," Walt instructed.

Walt wasn't sure his word were reaching Jesse. The gun remained in Jack''s mouth, and Jesse moved his free hand to the man's face to seemingly steady his grip. Walt was aghast, but a sense of pragmatism was leading him. "Jesse…don't. If you do _that_ , it's going to get uh, everywhere. He's dead, let's get out of this place while we still can."

Jesse didn't stir, and Walt worried his desire to pull the trigger was elevating with each protest. He could see Jesse's chest was now heaving, and his breaths were loud with exertion. Walt wasn't in opposition to Jesse finding release in vengeance, but this was too messy, too tactile. Walt flipped the shotgun around and swung it heartily, trying to knock Jesse from Jack. The shotgun connected at his jaw, cracking against Jesse hard, and he yelled out stumbling onto his back. His handgun tumbled to the floor after impact, and he sat back, bracing his jaw in pain. Walt saw the gun lying plainly beside Jesse, and so he scrambled across the floor to get his hands on it before Jesse realized. Walt just about grasped the gun's handle when Jesse spied him and dove over, and yanked on the shotgun from him with both hands, causing Walt to topple. The two were grunting on the floor as they scrabbled around for the guns. Walt finally took the handgun into his palm as Jesse freed the shotgun fully from Walt. He rolled backward, fumbling with the giant gun while Walt made it to his feet.

"Let's just, let's calm down," Walt began, nearly out of breath. He clutched at his side with his free hand.

Jesse's eyes were narrow as he looked back at Walt. He had two fingers wrapped around the trigger and was aiming at Walt.

"Don't point that at me Jesse…the police are likely on their way already - we need to leave _now_."

"Why the fuck did you just try and knock me out?" Jesse spat out.

Walt's aggravation was mounting; they had no time for this. Every moment that was wasted now could resign them to incarceration. As ever, Walt's goal shifted as he surmounted each challenge. _Why not push on for freedom?_

"Jesse, as much as I'd like desecrate corpses with you, we need to get out of here. So, stop fucking around! We're on the same side here, let's just – let's get out of here. Drop _the gun_." Walt was exasperated but the anger was roiling him. Jesse stared back, but did not move as much as an inch. He kept the shotgun pointed at Walt, who now had no choice but to raise his gun in return.

"Don't make me shoot you." Heisenberg suddenly appeared. His deep voice boomed.

"Not if I shoot you first."

Heisenberg stepped forward, eyes dark and unrelenting. This little fool is not going to get the better of me now, he thought. Seeing Jesse's fingers twitching at the trigger, he aimed his gun with superb steadiness. Without any hesitation, he fired. The shot rang out, and Jesse dropped the shotgun as it hit him. Heisenberg stood watching as Jesse realized he had been hit in upper left arm.

"Shit…" Jesse trailed out as his breathing suddenly hastened. He then let out a yell that went from guttural to screeching over the span of several seconds. Heisenberg's façade was shattered; Walt's sensibility returned and he was stunned he shot the boy. Despite all the killing the two had been a party to, neither had ever been shot before. Walt stuffed the gun into his waist band, and rushed to Jesse's side. Oh god, he thought, what if this kills him?

Jesse winced as he put his right hand across the wound, and looked down to see blood spilling out between his fingers. "Get _away_ from me," Jesse managed to spit out, making a feeble attempt to push Walt away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I – I didn't mean for this to happen, I just couldn't let you shoot me." As the words fell out of his mouth, Walt understood how lamentable they were. The situation suddenly seemed so absurd and obtuse, he needed to just take control of it…and Jesse. There was no time for more confusion. "Hold on to me, I'm going to lift you up. We're getting out of here."

"No way, man," Jesse pushed out. The pain seemed to be doubling and tripling in him as the minutes ticked by. He laid his head back softly against the floor, and closed his eyes. Walt's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Jesse's jaw, shaking it vigorously.

"Do _not_ play with me. Stay awake!" Walt was practically screaming as he leaned in to lift Jesse off the ground, his eyes now wild with ire. Jesse weakly lifted his right arm to hook his hand behind Walt's neck. Relieved but no less wild, Walt gingerly raised the two of them up, and together they began to hobble out of the clubhouse toward Walt's Cadillac. There would be no time to enjoy his triumph, Walt thought.

Opening the back door, Walt helped Jesse to lay on his back. Before Walt stuffed the M60 back into the trunk, he grabbed a handful of loose clothes that were strewn about. He used a t-shirt as a makeshift tourniquet around Jesse's arm, and hoped the pressure would be enough to stop the bleeding. Then, he covered Jesse with a number of shirts for warmth to ward off shock. Closing the trunk, Walt stood for just a moment, and looked out at the clubhouse riddled with bullets. I did this, he thought, and very nearly smiled to himself. As the Cadillac rumbled to life, Walt noticed the gate of fencing was locked shut. He would need to peel out through the gate to break it open. "Brace yourself," he said looking up to Jesse in the rear view mirror. Jesse's eyes were still fluttering and his chest falling up and down. Walt cleared his throat, and hit the gas pedal.

Walt had been driving for about two hours when he was finally nearing the Arizona state line. His intention was to cross over and find a motel where the two could lay low for a number of days. For all his talk and bravado with Jesse while they were held captive in the room, Walt was now flying by the seat of his pants, and he once again had the overwhelming feeling that he was navigating on borrowed time. He kept idle talk going as he drove to ensure Jesse didn't slip into unconsciousness. Holding a casual conversation with him was exceedingly difficult on any given day, and this early morning hour was no exception.

"You know there are quite a few drugs that fall under the family of amphetamines, known as _substituted amphetamines_ , that are legally prescribed to a great number of people – people who probably don't know they are consuming a type of amphetamine. There's phentermine, bupropion, and of course our old friend pseudoephedrine. It's quite, uh, intriguing…"

Jesse cut Walt off with a harried grunt. "Stop…trying to teach me. I don't wanna learn shit right now. My arm is fucking burning."

"Alright, that's okay. We're not far from Arizona now. You just need to hang on a little longer with me here." Walt glanced up into the rear view mirror to see Jesse shifting around. As the time had worn on, it had proven challenging for Walt to think of safe subject to engage Jesse in. After a year of captivity, what could be floating around Jesse's mind, he thought. He had to say something to keep them both cognisant. Warily, Walt asked, "What was the lab like…at the compound?"

Jesse pressed his eyes closed and stalled in what Walt guessed was hesitation. After a long pause, he said, "It was…it was big. They had a lot of stuff, er – equipment like kinda similar to Gus' place…before we blew it up."

"Were you able to test for purity regularly?"

"Um…uh, yeah kinda. I did alright."

"What level of purity did you achieve?" Walt was pushing now; his curiosity overtook him.

"I don't know," Jesse answered, letting a pained moan follow.

"Yes, you do. Tell me, Jesse."

"I'm not telling ya, so just stop asking already." He wasn't about to tell Walt his percentage, in part because he couldn't bear to have his only morsel of achievement torn away, but mostly and quite simply because Walt would never believe him. Unless the man saw a purity reading on a machine himself, he would never believe Jesse.

"Fine. There's no need to be embarrassed about not achieving a high level of purity under such reprehensible conditions. I can only imagine it was less than ideal trying to cook under duress." Walt was willing to drop the subject altogether. The last thing he needed was Jesse becoming stroppy, more so than he already was.

"Under duress, is that what you're calling it?"

"Yes, duress meaning _enforcement_ …or _coercion_. I think that's apt."

"I was a SLAVE, you asshole. How many times do I have to say that? Attached to the ceiling. I had to like, piss from a distance like it was some sort of track and field sport." Jesse stopped, wincing in pain as he grasped his arm. "You shot me, alright? Can you just chill it with the twenty questions? Can you at least do me that as like, penance for this shit?"

"From a distance? What does…well, anyway. Not long now until we're tucked away into a room. Just, why don't you talk about something you'd like to talk about? You need to stay conscious, so you start us off." Walt felt he was being very charitable.

"Oh my GOD, this is worse than being shot!" Jesse yelled out.

Walt sighed then took a firm tone. "Just _do it Jesse_."

Walt could see Jesse visibly racking his brain for something to say, and he allowed himself a little amusement at how long it was taking the young man to put something together. Finally, he spoke. "Um…there was like, a lot of purple going on at your brother-in-law's house. What's the deal with that?"

There was an instant pang in Walt's chest when Hank came to his mind. He had quite some time to come to terms with his role in the tragedy of his death, and although he still found Jesse culpable, he didn't see the point in haranguing him over it, especially now. But, nevertheless he was curious, and so Walt's eyes flitted up to the mirror, "When were you in his house?"

"Oh, uh...when all the stuff was happening before you know, that other…stuff." Walt knew exactly what he meant despite his lacking vocabulary. He simply nodded, knowing he would get the facts in time. The borrowed time he was entering wouldn't be fruitless; for now, he allowed himself to reminisce. "The purple would be from Hank's widow, Marie. She has very particular tastes. Even her car was purple."

"That's obsession on a serious level. Like, a _medical_ level."

Walt chuckled. "That's a funny way of seeing it. I think she just knows her mind; she knows exactly what she wants, and she brings it to fruition."

Jesse didn't respond. He had his eyes closed, and Walt could hear his unsteady breathing. He allowed the silence to pass for a few moments. Finally, Jesse said, "Where are we going to stay?"

"Somewhere out of the way and inconspicuous. Not long now."

Walt drove for only half an hour further before they arrived on the outskirts of Springerville, a quiet Apache County town with a population of less than two thousand people. He surmised that avoiding a highway motel would put them in better stead to stay unnoticed. As dawn cracked across the sky, he was parking the Cadillac after securing the room from a groggy, middle-aged woman at reception. There had been only one room left owing to a road-tripping gang of bikers. The parking lot was still and quiet at this early hour, and Walt was thankful for it. Jesse needed to get up and into the room without anyone noticing he was wounded, and saturated in blood. The room was about thirty steps from the car and Walt needed him to walk it on his own; the spectacle of carrying him would be too memorable in case anyone were to peer out a window. He speeded ahead of Jesse with his sole duffel bag, and opened the room's door. Jesse walked slowly towards the door putting one foot in front of the other. His head felt increasingly light and the ground seemed to be rising up to meet him. He stopped and grabbed his head for a couple seconds thinking about how glorious it would be to get clean and sleep in a fresh bed. He hadn't slept under a clean duvet in twelve months. And then everything started to fuzz like television static. Walt saw Jesse hit the ground as he stood at the room's white door. Somehow he had managed to collapse forward onto his knees saving himself from a likely concussion.

"Jesus Christ," Walt said as he rushed out to collect him. He looked around in haste as he grabbed Jesse by the arms to try and lift him. He kept repeating his name in order to rouse him, but he was careful to whisper so no one would overhear. If any of the motel's guests opened their doors now, the two of them were cooked. With an intense energy coming only from his drive for self-preservation, Walt managed to scoop Jesse up and sling him over his shoulders. He ran ragged back to the room and slammed the door shut behind them. He then walked over to the one double bed in the room and unfurled Jesse from his shoulder. He didn't really want him on the bedspread still covered in blood, but he had little choice. Moving to the bathroom, he chilled a face cloth under ice cold water to lay on Jesse's face.

"Jesse, Jesse wake up!" He put the cloth on half of his face and pressed it in hard. Continuing his pleas, he slapped the free side of face lightly. Jesse's eyes opened, and he instantly started struggling against Walt's arms while yelling for him to get off.

"Shush, shush I'm not hurting you," Walt announced sloughing off Jesse's hands clawing at him. "I hope no one just saw that out there, or we are finished."

"What, what happened?" Jesse asked in earnest. He was moving himself up the bed towards the pillows.

Walt went to the windows and pulled all the curtains shut, darkening the room instantly. He didn't answer Jesse, and he chalked up the confusion to Jesse's injuries. Walt reminded himself that there was a more pressing concern than guilt-ing Jesse for causing a scene in the parking lot. He moved closer to him with a concerned look on his face. "I need to see how badly you are hurt so I can figure out what we need. There's a serious risk of infection assuming you don't bleed to death first."

Jesse's face went morose as his eyes looked back up at Walt plaintively. It wasn't the threat of death affecting him, it was the promise of further suffering in the here and now. He couldn't, and he wouldn't, endure another bodily hardship. "I don't want you _who shot me_ playing doctor, alright? You'll probably somehow poison me since that's like, your modus operatus."

Walt smiled with satisfaction, " _Modus operandi_. It's the genitive case."

"Literally…no clue what you're saying." Jesse's voice went faint as he remarked. Walt could see all attitude and pre-tense slipping from the young man's face. Jesse looked over at Walt, who was now sitting to his right on the bed and clutching the cool towel in his hands. Jesse moved his trembling right hand onto Walt's, and looked into his eyes, "I'm feeling…cold."

The gravity in Jesse's face and words disarmed Walt. It was somewhat rare for him to speak about any of his feelings, emotional or physical, unless it was fodder for an argument. And Walt could recall only a handful of occasions were Jesse reached out for him, and those had been the lowest ebbs in Jesse's life. Walt discarded the towel and took the hand into his own, cradling and squeezing it. He looked back on Jesse with warm eyes that he'd never cast upon him before. It was a singular moment of honesty between the two with no facades erected or deceptions deployed. As Walt continued holding his hand, Jesse tried to reposition his head against the pillow. Without thinking, Walt grabbed the pillow to fluff it, and move it into place. Jesse shut his eyes. The shape of the moment was foreign to them both. Walt moved one of his hands to gently stroke Jesse's bloodstained forehead. "Jesse, look at me," Walt said softly. Jesse's eyes batted open, but strayed downcast. Walt noticed a single tear roll down his left cheek, and he tenderly wiped it away with his thumb. Within a moment, Jesse appeared unsettled, and he grabbed Walt's hand to move it away from his face.

"Don't...be like this, I'm covered in blood." Jesse stammered it out over shivers undulating through him. "You don't actually care so just stop."

Walt wouldn't let him snake out of the moment that easily. There was a small sense of renewed purpose inside of him, and he wasn't about to throw that away. "That's not true, son. In time you'll see that."

He easily wrenched his hand away from Jesse's obstinate one and started stroking his forehead again. He then rubbed the tears around his eyes, trying to coax them open. "You may feel stuck in here, in this sorry motel room, but it's just temporary. You're free now…you're free"

And Walt said this not so much because it was rooted in truth, in fact he could not promise Jesse would remain free, rather he said it to push Jesse over the emotional precipice he straddled. It worked, and Jesse's tears flowed, and Walt was buoyed. He slipped comfortably into the role of father-knows-best. His sincerity converted to narcissism with ease, and the feeling of operating on borrowed time began to diminish. Only as the tears dried up did Walt notice a chill engulfing Jesse's body. He knew he would now need to act quickly to ensure Jesse's survival.


	12. Chapter 12

Walt had left the room to make an urgent to trip to the Safeway a few blocks away to stock supplies that would sustain the pair for several days. About twenty minutes had passed, and Jesse was still lying on top of the bed's comforter shivering. The pain in his left arm had become exquisite, and his right arm ached from clutching the tourniquet. He reasoned he could let it go since the tourniquet was so tight, but he didn't want to. It was comforting to keep holding himself together as his mind was still so noisy and disjointed. He couldn't recall exactly how they got free, but he knew he had killed Todd. Straining through the cavernous sections of his mind, he could see his hands in swathes of blood, and a gun in Jack's mouth, but the pieces just weren't fitting together. How long would Walt be, and what would happen when he returned, were the most pressing thoughts swirling around Jesse's head. He needed him to return as soon as possible, but there was still a minute part of him that would be relieved if Walt never returned. Thus was the paradox of Jesse's life; it was a constant lose-lose situation where Mr. White continually had the upper hand. And Jesse felt he didn't have the strength, or the will, to fight against the man. Before Walt had left for Safeway, things had been too intense between the two, he felt. The only comfort and care he received over last decade, or so, was from romantic partners. His parents were never the affectionate, care-taking types, at least not beyond early grade school, and their interactions had devolved so quickly into animosity in his teenage years that he was sure physical contact had only been in intervals of slaps. And so, Walt had been the only person with whom these strange situations arose. A needy part of himself feasted on the comfort Walt just imparted. Yet, the conflicting feelings of loathing the man's very presence, and needing something from him so desperately, were tearing Jesse's insides apart. At once he wanted to scream at Walt for destroying everything meaningful in his life, and in the same breath beg him for something better. It was a horrible state to inhabit, and so a wave of despair passed through Jesse.

As Jesse blinked his eyes open he noticed static creeping in at the sides. The room seemed to grey a bit, and he knew he'd experienced his before. He shook his head from side to side to try and stay clear-headed. He was so very uncomfortable, and his entire body ached now. The blood on his clothes had dried and made all the fabric stiff and rough. When he looked down at himself his stomach turned to queasiness. His very physical state was yet again disgusting him. He can't go on like this, he thought, there had to be an end to all of this. Trying to keep his eyes open, he suddenly realized he really needed to piss. Letting go of his left arm, he carefully slid himself off of the bed and on to his feet. Dizziness engulfed him but he paid it no mind, and instead shuffled forward toward the bathroom. As he made his way to the bathroom doorway, things felt a bit clearer, and this cheered him, bringing thoughts of recovery. _I'm going to survive a gunshot. Unbelievably badass_. He'd be a guy with a gunshot scar soon, and that was going to play well with women, he thought smirking to himself. The smirk faded from his face as his mind slid to thoughts of sex. A knot formed in the pit of stomach. On so many days he fantasied about being with a woman again, and many times dreamed of Jane so vividly, but out here in cold, unforgiving reality he dreaded the idea of being with anyone ever again. He pushed these thoughts out of his mind as best he could as he flicked on the bathroom light switch. He was instantly greeted with a ghastly image in the mirror. Stunned, he switched the light off. The grotesque, bloodied face looking back at him with haunted eyes was unrecognizable. The light would need to stay off, he thought as he began to relieve himself. He would need to avoid looking at himself for as long as possible; if forever was a possibility, that would probably be too soon. Coming out of the bathroom, he noticed drops of blood were trailing from his arm. Standing up must have jostled the tourniquet and revived his circulation, and so he sat on the edge of the bed and compressed his upper arm yet again. He would stay like this until Walt returned for he feared laying back down would lull him into unconsciousness. And this surprised him: it seemed he no longer wished to meet the void.

Jesse sat still clasping his arm when suddenly the door opened and Walt bolted in carrying several plastic shopping bags. Walt's expression upon seeing him dripped with worry and fear. He shoved the bags onto the side table inhabiting the space under the window, and started hurriedly unpacking the items he'd purchased. There was a burner phone in a box, antiseptic, a bottle of vodka, some random food, toiletries, and bottles of water along with a chintzy first aid kit. After emptying all the bags, Walt stalked over to Jesse and put his hand to his forehead. Jesse just looked up at his face with big, saucer eyes. A moment later Walt withdrew his hand, and reached for a bottle of water.

"Here, you need to take one of these." Walt handed him a large white pill and the bottle of water.

He didn't want to argue, but he needed to know before he swallowed. "What is this?"

"It's fentanyl. It's one of my palliative medicines," Walt returned.

Jesse didn't know what palliative meant, but he assumed it was related to Walt's cancer. Fentanyl, though, he knew quite well. "I don't think I should take this," Jesse said morosely.

Walt stood in front of him, and Jesse could see him turning over a few thoughts in his mind. "I wouldn't let you just keep taking these. And besides, these are _mine,_ and I'm going to need them." A faint, strange smile crossed Walt's face.

"This stuff is basically heroin, but a trillion times stronger," Jesse said as he felt blood beginning to slip through his fingers again. He looked down and could see it slipping through his fingers.

Irritation visibly crossed Walt as he moved the first aid kit, antiseptic and vodka onto the bed beside Jesse. "It's not heroin, Jesse. It may have a similar mechanism of action, but there are key differences. Not least of all in this case you are swallowing a relatively low dose. It is much less potent when taken orally."

Despite a woozy feeling circling through him, Jesse continued to protest. "I don't want to feel anything like that shit. It's going to fuck me up."

Walt lowered himself to Jesse's level on the bed, and grasped his shoulder as he looked directly into the young man's eyes. "You _need_ something to take the edge off. Just please take one for now. I will be here."

Jesse knew taking the pill was a terrible idea, but he had no energy to argue with Walt. Begrudgingly, he swallowed down the fentanyl while staring at Walt. A slight smile came over Walt's face as he watched Jesse follow the pill with gulps of water. He patted his shoulder reassuringly, saying "Good, good," and instructed Jesse to let go of his left arm so he could begin cleaning the wound. Walt returned to the small table and picked up a pair of scissors before dragging a chair opposite Jesse.

"Scissors?" Jesse asked faintly.

Walt took a seat, and looked back at him rather plainly. "It will be easier, more comfortable this way."

Before Jesse could enquire further, Walt started cutting up the middle of Jesse's t-shirt. He groaned in annoyance at the situation, and Walt worked to distract him. "I'm pretty sure I saw this on E.R."

"E.R.? And when was that, like a decade ago?"

Unamused, Walt grimaced and continued cutting Jesse's t-shirt apart. He reached the collar with the shirt now cut in half and awkwardly angled the scissors inward to cut down toward the injured arm.

"This is weird," Jesse said flatly.

"I'm almost done," Walt returned. He slinked the t-shirt off and then pulled the remaining intact sleeve down Jesse's right arm. Walt threw the t-shirt to the floor, and stepped back seemingly to assess the state of Jesse.

"Drink some more water," Walt said, as he handed the large bottle to Jesse's right hand. He drank dutifully for a minute and then handed the bottle back.

"I'll start shortly," Walt asserted. Jesse was in no state to question his actions now, and tens of minutes were passing by as Walt waited for the analgesic to take full effect. Suddenly, Jesse was hit with a heavy wave that almost knocked him over. It wasn't a rush of euphoria, or the sensation of being enveloped in a beautiful, all-encompassing warmth like with heroin. Instead, a force was pushing him down to the bed, and he felt like someone was about to switch out the light at any moment. As Walt began readying a cloth with antiseptic, Jesse tried to keep himself upright as long as possible. After a few more minutes, the force bearing down on him was too great, and he floated backward to the bed barely feeling the impact as he hit the mattress. Walt leaned over him, and he could feel compression on his arm, but the sensation was extremely dulled. Everything dizzied and lost focus, and the room finally dimmed as he lost his grasp on the present.

Walt cautiously dragged Jesse across the bed so that he was lying with his head on the pillows. He put his hand to the young man's forehead in order to check that there was no spike in temperature in the last few hours. He felt clammy, but not hot, and so Walt was satisfied. He had cleaned and disinfected the wound, and miraculously found both an entry and exit for the bullet. Within a few weeks they would know what permanent damage the shot had done, but Walt felt certain it would be nothing life changing. Walt was now impressed with himself and his ability to wound for effect without killing Jesse. He sat in the bed next to Jesse, who was deeply high, but not completely passed out. His state reminded him rather unpleasantly of those nights at Jesse's duplex when Walt had tried in vain to wake him, how he had smacked him and yelled repeatedly to no effect. And of course, Jane asphyxiating before him. But this, Jesse's current state, was for a reason he kept reminding himself as he looked over at the inert body next to him. He would control Jesse's intake of this narcotic, and he would control all that he could, for as long as he could. Walt knew Jesse hadn't understood what palliative meant, and he wouldn't work to hide the state of his cancer from him, but the less Jesse knew about his prognosis the better the two would fare, Walt thought. His goals were shifting hour by hour now. They were eluding capture and needed to find a clandestine hideout to last a few months, if not the better part of year. Walt wasn't sure how much time he had left, but he guessed a maximum of three months. He had with him another course of chemotherapy packed at the bottom of his bag along with a plethora of palliative medicines to see him through the last days. Sipping on a bottle of water, and eating a sad-looking ready-made ham and cheese sandwich he had grabbed five of from Safeway, Walt pressed on the television from the remote. It was nearing the eleven o'clock news hour, and he was anxious to see what local reports might be saying about the shooting at the compound. He flicked through channels until he found an Albuquerque affiliate. Within a few minutes, a woman's voice boomed through the television's tiny speakers.

 _Tonight our top story continues to be the mysterious shooting at a rural white nationalist hideout. The police have been investigating multiple homicides at the gated compound of Jack Welker, a known white nationalist who had completed multiple stints in prisons across New Mexico and Nevada. In total, five bodies were found on the premises, including two persons who are said to have suffered brutal stab wounds. The police have been tight lipped on what exactly has been found at the premises, but early reports have suggested that large scale methamphetamine production facilities have been found. It is unclear if the police are still looking for suspects in connection with these homicides, but the chief commissioner has been clear in stating that the public should not be fearful._

Huh, Walt murmured with his arms folded across his chest. He was relieved that neither his name nor Jesse's came up in the report, but he knew that didn't mean the police weren't connecting him to these events. Jesse's fingerprints would be all over the compound, and his might also be found in a few places. He cast his eyes back over Jesse, who hadn't moved an inch from his recumbent position, and then he thought, brutal stab wounds…who had suffered from stab wounds? He remembered Jesse's taunt to Jack before shooting him in the head. What exactly had happened in that pitiful room after Walt had been dragged out, he wondered. He looked down to his swollen thumb now wrapped tightly in a splint, and chuckled to himself. What a pointless exercise, he thought. Another story from the news suddenly caught Walt's attention.

 _The hunt is still on for New Mexico's most notorious drug kingpin, Walter White, also known as "Heisenberg". He was last spotted in the Albuquerque area approximately two weeks ago. The police have released the following sketch to approximate what the man may look like now. If you have any information on his whereabouts, or if you believe you have seen him, the police urge you to call Crimestoppers on the number showing now on the screen._

Walt stared at the artist's rendering featured on the screen above the Crimestoppers phone number. It was slightly surreal seeing an artless pencil rendering of himself, but it scratched the itch of his ego. He knew the police must be chasing after him, and now he knew the public were on alert. The illustration included his dark, thick-rimmed glasses and a suitably bushy haircut. He would need to alter his appearance in the coming days, and he was annoyed to have to abandon his glasses. For once he felt ever so slightly fashionable, but it wasn't to last. The closest Walmart was nearly an hour away in the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest, and Walt felt this was the best bet. He had spied a few western-themed apparel shops on his jaunt to Safeway, but he didn't feel committed to such a divergence.

Switching off the television, Walt thought it was time to attempt sleep. It would be the first time he slept in a clean bed since his capture at the compound, and he wondered how long it had been for Jesse. A pang of guilt tapped the inside of his stomach. Shoving the thought out of his head, he started to pull the duvet down the bed from under Jesse. Moving his feet so that they rested on his side of the bed, he removed Jesse's shoes. After a moment of deliberation, he cautiously removed Jesse's jeans. Walt didn't like the idea of sleeping under the duvet with any blood-soaked clothing, and felt he could deal with resolving complaints after the fact. After climbing into the bed and switching out the light, Walt stilled for a moment pensively. He then grabbed a pillow and rolled Jesse to his side, propping him against a pillow. An anxiety within him was soothed, and he settled down against a pillow and closed his eyes.

Walt was perched in a seat by the table munching on one of his ham and cheese sandwiches. He intermittently sucked on a little orange juice box making a straining noise through the straw. He had been awake for a few hours, and after a shower and a poor cup of instant coffee, he was hunkered over a newspaper from yesterday with his meal. Jesse hadn't stirred since he awoke and paranoia had him checking the young man's pulse every hour. Finishing his juice, Walt threw the box into the trash bin near the room's door as he approached the bed to take a seat. Jesse was still lying on his right side just as Walt had propped him up so many hours ago. He placed a hand on his side and wobbled him back and forth gently to see if he'd wake. Repeating his name quietly, he swayed him a few more times until he gently rolled to his back. Jesse's eyes fluttered open and shut, and he let out a pained moan. Walt quickly worked to put another pillow behind him and lifted his left arm away from his body. He brought a water bottle from the nightstand near to Jesse's mouth and asked him to drink. Barely opening his eyes Jesse said, "Not thirsty…"

"You've been out for more than twelve hours – you need to drink something before you become severely dehydrated. Now drink some," Walt returned, placing the bottle at his lips. Jesse drank reluctantly for a few moments before he pushed it away with his right hand.

"How do you feel?" Walt asked. His arm was stretched so that he was leaning over him.

"I feel…disgusting and my arm kills." Jesse went to rub his left arm, and let out an aching cry at the slightest touch.

"Why don't you drink some more water, and I'll draw you a bath?" Walt said gently. He was working to keep his energy calming so he could keep Jesse pliant.

Eyes shut, Jesse raised the duvet to his chin and tucked it under. "Where are my clothes?"

"They were covered in blood so we got rid of them. Drink some more water while I start the bath."

"I'm not getting in a bath with you," Jesse replied, monotone.

Walt stood in the doorway, and looked back at him confounded. He wasn't certain if that was a misguided joke, or just Jesse attempting to annoy him. It was plausible it could be both, and so he forgot the comment and started to run the bath. He dumped a small bottle of motel-given shower gel in to add bubbles. He swirled the water with his hand to rustle up more bubbles as hot water rose in the tub. Once it was ready, he called out to Jesse, and when he got no response he walked back out of the bathroom. Jesse was still lying on his back, but was covering his eyes with his right hand. "It's ready for you…once you're ready," Walt stated awkwardly.

"I don't want to do this," Jesse said, strained and full of unease.

Walt stood by the table still confused. He could see the tension wrought through Jesse's body, but he couldn't understand where it was coming from. Perhaps after going so long without being able to wash he was now averse to the idea, he thought. Walt worked to think of something encouraging to say that would get Jesse into the bathroom. "You're going to feel really good after you do this," was the best he could fathom. It was a banal yet necessary task, and it was taking a lot of effort from Walt to remain sensitive. He walked over to the bed, and put a reassuring hand to Jesse's forehead stroking it lightly as he covertly noted the temperature: still lukewarm, nothing to fret about at this point. Immediately, Jesse stiffened.

"Please don't, please don't – I don't want to, please don't make me…" Jesse cobbled out over his breaking voice.

Walt suddenly became aware of Jesse's worry, and he quickly removed his hand, feeling sick. He wasn't expecting this, not again now that they had left the compound. I'm not equipped to deal with this, he thought, and then thoughts of ridding himself of Jesse once he healed were dancing around his head. _What was a reasonable length of convalescence, and how much money would I need to give him to leave for good? How could I be sure he wouldn't talk to the police again?_ The thoughts stopped Walt's mind, and he knew splitting from Jesse was not an option. He didn't want to spend his last months on earth fearing an attack in prison, and soon, he himself would need care in lieu of a palliative doctor. He was going to have to find a solution to this problem. He sat down on the bed, but was careful not to touch the young man.

"Tell me where you are – describe it," Walt said in a hushed voice.

"The bed…the backroom."

"Tell me what's happening…" Walt said, trailing off. In truth, he didn't want to know. He wanted to leave that madness at the compound; everything he witnessed Jesse suffer he wanted to leave miles away as though it never happened.

"You're uh, you just…took…that other's guy's, his money…and I don't want to do this. Oh my god, I'm going to throw up." Jesse rolled to his right side, and curled up with his head down against the mattress. Panicking, Walt hustled for the waste bin and set it by the bed. He imagined the fentanyl could be causing his nausea, not just the gruesome memory.

"If you need to throw up, just – just go ahead, the basket is beside the bed. Just, Jesse – open your eyes. You're not in that room. You're here with…Walt...you're safe." He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable around his words. When they were locked in the room, he could do nothing to escape the reality of the trauma, and thus the words came easily. But now, all the variables of life were back in play, and Walt would need to work hard to control this aspect of the situation. Just another weight to balance on the scale, he thought to himself.

Jesse was sitting in the bathtub with his right arm curled around his knees hugging them into his chest. Steam was still rising from the bubble-packed water, and the warmth was comforting. His left arm was bandaged up tightly, and he tried to keep it loose to his side. The least he could do was not knock it into anything now that the painkiller had worn off. He'd thrown up only twice since he woke up, and his stomach felt relatively settled. He took a swig of water from the tall bottle sitting just outside the tub, and tried not to let his eyes wonder to the pale green tiles encasing the tub. They were vomit-inducing without the need for hard drugs. Despite it leaving him chilled, he couldn't bear to outstretch his legs. He didn't want to see any more of himself than was necessary. Instead, he squashed down as far as possible into the tub still curled up. Dirt and blood were transferring from his body to the hot water slowly since he was doing nothing to aid the process. The blood stayed pinky-red as it first hit the water, but quickly would dilute until it was barely present. The dirt just contributed to a graying of the water. It should have been foul to witness, but Jesse stared intently as it seemed a year of his life slowly dissolved into the tub. He wished the water could take everything with it: the pain, the memories, his scars, and that new part of him that wasn't there before. It was like there was a stranger inside of him that knew things he never wanted to know, felt things he never imagined, and wanted things that made him feel ill.

Jesse let the time pass over him as he closed his eyes, listening to the faint sounds of the television from the main room. He heard Walt sputter a cough only once, and it was an annoying reminder of his current situation. He was free of an immediate threat to his life, but he was tied to this old man for the foreseeable future. He was injured and borderline incapacitated, he had no money and was sporting the face of a wanted outlaw. All that lay before him was a life on the run with the constant threat of capture. There should have been something exciting about it; it was an inevitability he had planned for off and on since starting his venture with Walt. This portion of his outlaw lifestyle was supposed to take place solo, however, it wasn't supposed to be a journey with _him_. Jesse groaned audibly and rolled his head around the back of the tub.

"You okay in there? Need some help?" Walt piped in, seemingly hearing his frustration.

"Fine, I'm just fine," Jesse barked back. He tried to remind himself that the past twelve months were so much worse than this present situation. Yet, because he was trying to pack away everything that happened there to make it inaccessible, he couldn't keep any perspective. He was working too hard to deny what had happened, and so trying to tell himself he'd been through worse did nothing but conjure visions of everything worse. An image floated to the fore of his mind and he couldn't shake it. He was lying beside Kenny wrapt in ecstasy as they moved rhythmically together. Trying to force the thought out of his head, Jesse was repeating 'no' over and over until finally he was saying 'get out, get out'.

"What's wrong, Jesse?" He could tell Walt was standing right behind the closed bathroom door.

"Nothing, it's all fine. Just go away will ya," Jesse muttered half-heartedly.

"Okay, well I hope you're scrubbing away in there because if there's even an ounce of dirt left I'm sending you back in," Walt said, attempting to sound light-hearted.

"You are _so_ annoying. Stop making me feel like I'm twelve years old."

"I mean it!" Walt returned. Jesse could feel him grinning like a fool through the door. The guy was relentless in his nerdiness, he thought. The exchange broke a certain tension, and Jesse picked up a wash cloth and dunked it in the bath. He then closed his eyes and did as he was told.

Jesse walked out of the bathroom with a towel tied snuggly around his waist. He went straight for the table with the food, picking up a Snickers bar. He began unwrapping it, and sat in the chair against the bathroom wall looking over to Walt, who was outstretched on top of the bed. As he scarfed down the Snickers, he picked up an orange juice box, and drank the entirety in one gulp.

Walt looked over to him and smiled approvingly, "You look…clean."

Jesse merely nodded in response before saying, "So, where's my new clothes?"

An odd look passed over Walt's face, and then any hint of a smile disappeared. He sat forward on the bed and started, "Right, about that…I don't have any for you, yet. There's a Walmart just under an hour away that is our best bet."

Jesse groaned and cradled his head in his right hand, before looking back at Walt with daggers in his eyes. "You were all like, cutting off my clothes and you didn't bother to buy any new ones? What the shit, man?"

"It's just an oversight, and besides, it's not like we're going anywhere any time soon."

"That's a pretty big oversight, asshole. I'm not lounging here all naked while you decide to get your ass to Walmart."

"I'm not keen on that either but the problem, Jesse, is that my face was all over the news last night. I can't just waltz out there now."

Frustration was taking hold in both of the men, but Jesse dropped the discussion as what little fight was whipped up in him dissipated as quickly as it was stirred. He looked back over the items on the table to see if there was anything else of interest. Razors, baby-wipes, moisturizer… _the gun_. He nearly gasped as he saw it sitting atop the table. A vision of the bullet entering Jack's skull flashed through him, followed by the sensation of stuffing the gun far into Jack's mouth. He looked over to Walt, and for a split second thought about how satisfying it would be to push that gun into Walt's mouth as far he could. He imagined the relief he'd get from pulling the trigger. Suddenly, Jesse realised where his mind had drifted. Was he really fantasizing about killing Walt? No, he thought to himself, it was just frustration mixing with the pool of murky memories in his mind.

"What is it, Jesse?" Walt said.

Jesse shook the thought from his head. "Nothing," he said looking down. He was shocked by the intensity of that last thought, but he didn't want to linger on it. He rose, and re-entered the bathroom in search of the boxer shorts he previously donned. He'd have no choice but to put them back on. Standing in the doorway, he looked at Walt and said, "Do you think I should take another one of your pills?"

Walt looked back at him. Gently, he asked, "Do you think you need one?"

Jesse knew the answer was no, but he didn't care. He'd rather be nodding out than awake in just his shorts stuck in a bed beside Mr. White. Everything was getting a bit too cloudy and muddled, and he thought that escapism was his best defense regardless of how it left him earlier in the day. "Yeah, I mean…it would help with the pain, which is like, a lot," he said grabbing his arm for effect.

Walt took a small pill box out of his pocket and picked up one pill as Jesse sat on the bed and stretched out his hand. Walt placed the pill in his palm while his glasses slid down his nose a touch. His eyes looked into Jesse's from above the frames and he said, "I'm not a fool, Jesse."

Looking down so Walt couldn't see the guilty look on his face, Jesse murmured, "I know." He quickly swallowed the pill, and settled into the bed. Walt pushed his glasses up on his nose, and Jesse noticed him watching. It was as though Walt was convincing himself he was in complete control.


	13. Chapter 13

The opioid in Jesse's system had him in a heavily sedated state and his mind was walking through memories. He couldn't achieve true sleep on this type of drug, and instead he was in a deep 'nod' somewhere below wakefulness. He floated through vivid scenes as though he was visiting his life from a safe distance.

"What are you doing with that little shit in here, boy," Jack called out to Todd.

"He smells worse than horse shit. I'm taking him for a shower…if that's alright with you, I mean." Todd stopped halfway across the clubhouse with Jesse linked through his right arm. He blinked back at his uncle expectantly.

"Yeah, alright, but Kenny, go with them two. I don't want nothing untoward going on." Jack returned his eyes to the old Hustler magazine he was thumbing through. Kenny set his cue down on the pool table next to his stubby beer bottle, and followed Todd and Jesse out of the room.

After entering the locker room, Todd turned one of the large shower faucets around several times before water began to spurt out. It took a few moments before steam rose from the uneven stream sprouting from the shower-head. After unlocking Jesse fully from his shackles, Todd stood back and stared, but Jesse just stood with his head downcast. After a minute passed, Todd started, "Well, take your clothes off and get in. Jack won't let us stay in here for long."

Jesse looked up at Todd as slowly began to pull his arm from his ragged shirt's sleeve. There was dirt smudged indiscriminately across his face, and the layer of grime and grit on his hands felt miles thick. Once he disrobed fully, Jesse stood under the water and turned himself away from Kenny and Todd, the latter of whom slid over a bar of soap along the green tiled floor. The sensation of hot water spilling over him felt like a dream. He couldn't imagine feeling clean in this place and in a way he didn't want to; his quick descent back into filth would serve as a reminder of the permanence of his captivity. He sheepishly lathered up his torso while keeping his eyes tightly shut, just hoping Todd and Kenny would keep quiet for the duration of the event. Suddenly, a mobile phone began to ring. Todd's eyes lit up as he looked to his phone.

"It's Lydia," he said, looking across to Kenny.

"You better be taking that call. That pretty bitch waits for no man," Kenny said with a grin. Todd nodded, and slinked away from the shower as he answered the call. Kenny steadied his gaze on Jesse as he leaned against a tiled partition. He was scanning over the backside of Jesse's body. The filth was washing away but the bruises and scars remained, including a particularly nasty looking deep purple welt situated around his left kidney.

"You been takin' a lot of beatings from us all, huh?" Kenny said in a curious tone. Even Jesse knew that was one of those questions he didn't have to answer.

"It must be uh, really uncomfortable sleeping in that pit in the ground there, eh?" Jesse was tempted to look at Kenny so he could read his face, but he didn't dare turn around. "Hey, I'm not gonna do nothing to you right now. I ain't cruel like that," Kenny said coarsely.

A guffaw escaped from Jesse's mouth. "You're _not_ cruel…."

"Hey, I ain't! Yeah I'll beat ya if Jack there tells me to, I'm his number one, see, but I ain't doing that of my own accord." Jesse stole a glance over his shoulder and saw Kenny leaning over the partition looking up at his face with an almost earnest expression. It seemed the man was sincere in what he said however meaningless the words were.

"Even if you're scum, you know, a man's gotta get clean and have a decent night's sleep every now and again." Kenny seemed almost to be rambling at this point, cradled his chin in his hands and still staring at Jesse, who was now lathering up his hair with the bar of soap.

"I don't think a good night's sleep is on the cards for me," Jesse returned quietly. It felt foreign to be conversing with a person now. He had become so used to answering questions as economically as possible.

"Yeah, and it'll be winter soon. They gotta think of something else otherwise you'll either die in that pit or frostbite's gonna ravage you," Kenny remarked as though he was talking about catching a seasonal flu. Todd reentered the room, and he continued.

"Todd, we gotta keep this here rat on the inside going forward. He ain't gonna survive that turn in the weather out there. You tell Jack I'm putting him in the back room tonight for some recuperation."

Todd didn't seem fazed by Kenny's order, and simply returned that Jesse'd stay cleaner longer if they kept him inside for a bit, which he'd greatly appreciate. Once Jesse finished washing, Todd handed him an old towel and placed a clean set of clothes on the partition next to Kenny. The new outfit consisted of grey sweatpants and sweatshirt, and a faded black t-shirt that seemed to be for a Def Leppard tour from the Eighties. If the circumstances were different, he would have appreciated wearing it. Todd shackled Jesse's hands back together and delivered him straight to Kenny.

"I'll tell Jack what you said," Todd stated. He had a way of reducing even the smallest interactions to a schoolboy level, Jesse thought. Kenny grabbed the shackles' connecting chains and tugged to signal Jesse to walk.

Walking out of the changing rooms, Kenny lead Jesse to the first room on the right of the corridor that connected the front, leisure room to the rest of the premises. He launched open the door and flicked on the light, illuminating a compact room that included a small double bed and beat-up dresser shoved against the opposite wall. There was a white basin and toilet in the left corner. As Jesse continued to survey the room, he stood just shy of the door. He couldn't begin to guess where this was leading, but he hoped Kenny had meant what he said about the need for a good night sleep. He hadn't slept on a real bed in three months and the sight of one so close felt like a terrible tease. Abruptly, Kenny shut the door and locked it; there was a deadbolt on the inside.

"Sit down, don't be shy," Kenny said signally toward the bed. Too used to obeying commands, Jesse went straight to the bed and sat on the end. As he sat, Kenny circled around to the far side of the bed and knelt, fishing for something. He stood and Jesse saw a small, automatic pistol in his left hand. He was beyond fear at this point, but an apprehension began to gain strength in his stomach.

"Now I'm gonna take these cuffs off of you, alright, but I got this gun so don't be thinking things, that would be mighty stupid," Kenny warned. He bent over Jesse and began unchaining him.

Confusion was enveloping Jesse. He asked plainly, "Why are you doing this?"

Kenny looked into Jesse's eyes as he removed the cuffs from his wrists, and then stepped back. "Jack puts a lot of trust in me around here. And that's because he knows I have a certain common sense that a lot of the boys out there don't have. I ain't so quick to be violent. I reason shit out. And I have reasoned that you ain't gonna last much longer in that pit out there, even if we take to giving you privileges like getting a shower, and such. You already tried to hang your sorry self down there once and, what was that you did with that chemical in the lab? Heck, any which way you look at it, you're a liability that warrants more attention. We need you round here to cook, and Todd really needs you so he can hit that fine pussy of Lydia's, so this is gonna have to do."

Jesse stopped watching Kenny gesticulate halfway through his explanation. An overwhelming hopelessness overtook him upon hearing the man talk about his hard wrought attempts to take his own life as though he were a child acting out. The scenario of being in this small room with Kenny was beginning to feel ludicrous, and he wished he were filthy as ever lying on the sodden mattress out in the freezing cold. At least out there he was alone with his own thoughts. A few minutes of silence passed as Jesse despaired.

"Well don't just sit there, get in bed. And take those clothes off, you don't wanna wreck them already." Kenny threw an extra-large t-shirt at him from the dresser.

"I need a pair of boxers," Jesse said unequivocally.

"Don't you be demanding nothing," Kenny raised his voice and waved the gun, reminding Jesse he held all the power. Defeated, Jesse slinked off his clean jogging suit and put on the giant t-shirt which nearly met his knees. He folded tomorrow's outfit and placed it on the floor at the foot of the bed before crawling across the bed to get under the duvet. As his head hit the pillow, the softness of his surrounds was almost too much to bear, but his eyes closed quickly, and his mind drifted. Sleep was only moments away when Kenny neared his side of the bed with a bottle of water.

"Drink half of this now," he commanded. Jesse batted his eye lids open, and sat halfway up to comply. After drinking half the bottle, Kenny patted his head and set the bottle down where he could reach it. Within a moment the lights were flicked out and things began to blur.

Hours later in the dead of the night, Jesse awoke to a hand tugging gently on his hip. After being pulled a few inches, the hand relented, but was replaced by an arm crossing his abdomen and chest to tow him backward. He found himself with his backside nestled against another, much bigger body. Wondering what fresh Hell was greeting him, he instinctually began to squirm. As he tried to pull himself free, the body beside him began cooing and shushing him until he froze and then relented out of tiredness. It was Kenny beside him, and Jesse couldn't fathom his intentions.

"Take it easy, you're safe," Kenny whispered. Jesse shuddered at the words. The arm that was at his chest lowered and sought his waist, pulling him in tighter. He worried for a moment where this was headed, but the situation didn't escalate. Kenny bunched the pillow under his head, and let out a few deep breathes. As repulsed as he was at being so close with this man, he knew he was warmer, and more comfortable, than he'd been in at least three months. Everyday since he was taken away in that hot desert heat, he tried to live in the present, to close off the sense of a possible future as much as he could, and it was all he could do now to forget that he'd wake up again tomorrow. He concentrated on the warmth and coziness, and the nearly foreign feeling of comfort – all sensations he had not known for months.

A sliver of light cracked through the curtains where their embrace had broken. It was barely dawn and the light filtering through the narrow passage was blue. Walt found his eyes creeping open as he rolled over onto his left side. He was fighting to keep his eyes closed, and let his mind drift back to dreamland when a faint hand crawled its way onto his stomach. His sleepiness kept his reaction subdued, but curiosity lingered forcing him to open an eye. Jesse was lying flat on his back in the middle of the bed still deep in sleep. His left hand was lightly petting at Walt's stomach in a stilted fashion owing to his injury, and Walt wondered what Jesse may be pawing at in his dream. He left the young man's hand to wander since it had limited mobility, and shut his eyes as he nestled his head further into his pillow. As quiet minutes passed, muffled whimpers became audible, and Jesse's hand grasped the ragged t-shirt Walt wore, holding onto to it tightly. This jostled Walt from those initial psychedelic stages of sleep, and he was slightly irritated. He put his hand on Jesse's to unclench it from his shirt, and then the hand unexpectedly released and glommed onto his own. It was clammy and clingy, and proceeded to furl and unfurl until it found a way to weave its fingers through Walt's. Walt lay still while this happened, and let Jesse's errant hand transport the two to his own leg, where it wished to settle. It was a small sacrifice to make, Walt thought, in order to provide some basic modicum of comfort. Convinced he was doing Jesse a favour, Walt slipped into sleep.

A few hours later, Walt awoke to an orange glow permeating the room from the break in the curtains. As his eyes focused on the room, he noticed his hand was still firmly weaved into Jesse's, and now rested on the young man's abdomen. He was surprised, and it made him a bit uncomfortable. The grasp was too tight for him to slip his hand away and leave Jesse undisturbed.

"Wake up," Walt began as softly as he could manage. He was resisting the urge to jostle him and demand he awaken. "Jesse, it's time to wake up."

Jesse stirred ever so slightly before he somehow inched closer to Walt. His thumb moved to massage Walt's palm with a level of affection that only intensified Walt's discomfort. He did not want to startle Jesse, but he wasn't above doing so if it would get him out of this predicament. He moved his free hand to the young man's shoulder, and gently pushed. Barely moving, Jesse murmured, "Don't leave me…."

Walt was staring intently at the young man now and wasn't certain if he heard the utterance correctly. Each time he tried to move his hand away Jesse would change his grip in a spate of caresses and squeezes. The peculiarity of the situation was heightening with each passing moment. Walt decided to push him more vigorously and repeated his name. In response, Jesse turned his head toward Walt, but it was clear his eyes were still sewn shut. He muttered more audibly, "Please…stay…don't make me…."

Walt looked down at Jesse. His face was mired in worry and his brow knitted. Softly, he said, "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

Jesse squeezed his hand back and brought his right hand to join, stroking Walt's hand and arm. His head was tilted to the side, inclined toward Walt. "Just with you…"

Walt felt the words like a stab through his heart. He yanked his hand out of Jesse's, and bolted up right against the flimsy fake wood headboard. A deep aggravation set into his bones at the realization of the origins of Jesse's present state. Walt needed to face the reality of the situation: Jesse's trauma was invading his mind at all stages of consciousness. Walt hadn't the slightest idea how he needed to proceed to minimize these episodes, and he knew he stood no hope of banishing them. He was no therapist and if he was honest with himself, he struggled to be sensitive to the emotional plights of the likes of Jesse. He had always reserved that level of empathy for Skyler on the rare occasion she needed it. It wasn't that he was a cold man, but coddling just wasn't where his interests laid. He preferred to enable and motivate through discipline and intellectual stimulation. Jesse had always been needy, and if the young man wasn't emotionally bare before him, he was deferring that state until the next available moment of no self-control. He was the only adult Walt could think of who lacked sophisticated coping skills. Drugs and women, Walt thought, those were his two escape routes.

Jesse was now awake and staring up into the ceiling, but he hadn't spoken a word. Looking down on him with silent pity, Walt thought it prudent to test where Jesse was mentally: the past or the present. He moved a hand over to his head and gently started stroking his hair. Jesse closed his eyes, and grabbed the duvet to bring it up to his chin.

"Are you here with me?" Walt asked softly. It felt like a silly question to ask, but he was avoiding harsh, probing words.

With a laboured exhalation, Jesse returned, "Yeah…why are you petting me?"

Relieved, Walt chuckled and patted him on the head before withdrawing his hand.

It was mid-afternoon and the curtains were still drawn. The room was lit completely by bedside table lamps, each with lampshades coated in dust and yellowing at their edges. Jesse was sitting upright on the bed with his back against the headboard. He had watched three episodes of NCIS and not particularly enjoyed any one of them. Taking a swig of a water bottle inhabiting the table to his right, he looked across to Walt, who was sitting at the table trying to set up the cheap mobile phone he purchased. Jesse looked at his face for a while noting how much it had changed over the past twelve months. Walt had certainly lost some weight, which had caused his wrinkles to become more pronounced, but he now had a thick, healthy looking head of hair. These elements paired with his thick-rimmed glasses led him to look much like a different person. He looked softer now, though Jesse knew that was strictly skin-deep. The man was still an unrepentant, arrogant asshole responsible for his current, miserable state. Even though he knew that without Walt's misguided attempt to attack the compound there was no way he would be free presently, a twinge of resentment began to ignite in his chest. He was stuck on this bed in pain and craving another fentanyl. He would consume anything handed to him right now; anything that would take the edge off the feeling of the present. He considered asking for another pill, but he thought it best to wait until Walt was out of the room and grab one himself in order to save himself the addict speech. He wasn't going to become addicted to Walt's stash, they were just pills after all. To him, it felt like nothing in comparison to heroin, or even crystal. Sure, the first one really knocked him into another dimension, but it wasn't the same, he thought. It didn't feel the same gorgeous euphoria as with heroin, and he rationalized his desire by categorizing it as a very temporary solution. He had no desire to bogart the man's stash of whatever the drugs were to him – they sounded important for his recovery, Jesse thought. Walt would inevitably take a shower, and then he'd search for them. He took another drink of water, and his mind flitted around landing on things he didn't particularly want to remember. Kenny's face flashed in the fore of his mind in various unpleasant guises, while horrible words echoed. He heard Walt's words at To'hajiilee about Jane and then curiously, a new line tugged at him. Suddenly, a question popped into his head.

"Did you like…order Jack and his gang to kill me?"

Walt looked up from the little black flip phone in his hands with his brow slightly furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Jesse had the television's remote in his hand and was tossing it head over heels repeatedly. "Some things you said just sort of popped up in my head."

Walt's eyes jerked toward Jesse, then he coughed and kept fiddling with his cheap phone. "I did… _expect_ that you would be dead, that's right."

Jesse stopped fooling with the remote, and stared at Walt. "I get that like, you would have assumed Jack and them would've killed me ages ago…but, even out in the desert it's like you expected all of them to just kill me for you."

Walt nodded slowly and exaggeratedly giving an air of ambiguity. "Well, you knew I had agreed to work with them to extinguish the _risks_ centred in the prison network…"

Jesse cut him off with loud tut. "Extinguish the risks? How about _mass murder_?"

Walt waved off the accusation as he stated, "There's no need to be dramatic. Mass murder is a bit much."

"I'm pretty sure brutally murdering ten men at the same time fits that definition," Jesse returned. Walt was shifting in his seat as he broke eye contact, flipping the phone open and closed.

Jesse narrowed his eyes to him as he said, "You called Jack and ordered my death, didn't you?"

Crisp, silent tension engulfed the room as Jesse's words broke into the air. Walt looked up and met his gaze. He sucked in a breath before speaking with disdain dripping off his words, "You're right."

Jesse just stared back at Walt, unmoving and quiet. He had asked the question on a whim, but now felt unprepared for the answer. His mind ran quickly through the sequence of events leading up to the desert, and something pressed itself forward. "You couldn't even bother to kill me yourself. You ordered it like it was a pizza."

Walt scoffed, "That's a ludicrous thing to say."

"Yeah, no. It's not. I knew you wanted me dead, but you couldn't even do it yourself," Jesse started. The flicker of resentment was quickly burning into seething anger. He was still perched against the headboard, but his good arm was gesturing emphatically. "And in the desert, you what, didn't want to let your hitmen pull the trigger because you needed to rip my soul to pieces? As much as you like hurting me, because like, you do, so much…"

Walt cut him off angrily, "What exactly are you saying, Jesse?"

"Why shoot me in the arm? Why didn't you shoot me in the head or chest, like a real man?" Jesse was practically yelling now and his eyes were dark and narrow. "You know how much I wanted to just fucking die. What is wrong with you that you can't kill me?"

"Are you hearing yourself right now? This a new low, even for you. Is there something wrong with you? Are you feeling feverish suddenly?" Walt jerked his head back before shaking it.

Jesse stared at him, and said flatly, "Yeah, there is something wrong with me. You shot me in the arm after twelve months of slavery. Nothing will ever be right with me. And you did that. How does it feel living with the guilt that you're responsible for this mess of a person?" Jesse's voice wavered a bit over the last few words.

"So only I'm responsible for everything that's gone wrong for you, is that it? I made you become obsessed with methamphetamine to the point where selling it seemed like a great idea, did I? Did I put that heroin in your veins as well? Did I get your addict girlfriend back on the, the junk – that's what you junkies call it right? Did I really _ever_ make you do _anything_ Jesse, ever? The answer is no, I didn't. You're an adult. You wanted this just as much as I did." Walt had risen to his feet and was pacing along the compact space between the bed and television.

"You manipulated me over and over. You made me kill an innocent man." Walt's words were so offensive to Jesse, but he pushed through them determined to make himself heard. He was trying not to yell, but his voice was becoming hard to control.

"Who on earth are you referring to as innocent?" Walt said, stalking about the room.

"Gale, or do you not remember because you didn't pull the trigger?"

Walt stilled instantly and turned to face Jesse. Pointing a finger, he said, "That was him versus us, you know that. Don't you dare act as though that wasn't the case. And he was far from innocent. He was a criminal, just like us."

Jesse balked with a devilish grin. "What, you think he dissolved bodies in acid in his spare time, too? I don't think so…" He was shaking his head in disbelief at Walt's latest argument.

"Don't you shake your head at me!" Walt yelled still pointing at Jesse cartoonishly.

Jesse looked back at the man with smug satisfaction. His voice suddenly became quiet and eerily soft. "Calm down, Walt."

Walt looked back at him expectantly as he slowly dropped his arm to his side. Jesse began, "You engineered the poisoning of a child for the sole purpose of control over me. You somehow persuaded Saul to do it. And it worked perfectly. You had me back. What the fuck is it with you?"

Walt stayed quiet.

"When I wanted to leave the new operation," Jesse continued. "You let Mike leave, but not me. Of course you killed Mike and lied to me so I wouldn't leave you. When you finally decided it was okay for me to leave, only when the magnificent Heisenberg ok'd it, you let me cry on your shoulder like a lost child. What the FUCK is wrong with you? Did you like that? Is that what you wanted?" Jesse's tongue was lethal in its tirade, and Walt was standing in stunned silence.

"Mm, you did like that didn't you? I bet it felt like a crowning achievement. You didn't ever really want me dead. You have me now exactly how you've always wanted me. Messed up and completely broken. Yours to do with what you will." Jesse breathed out quickly as the self-satisfied grin melted from his face when the weight of his own words sank into his head. His eyes became downcast for the first time since he started the argument.

Still standing at the end of the bed was Walt with one hand on his hip. Looking squarely into Jesse's eyes, he started, "Do you know how many times I was advised by various people to kill you?"

Jesse peered up with a confused look on his face, his eyes big like saucers, but kept quiet. Walt continued, "I think the first person to tell me _point blank_ that I should kill you was Saul. When Hank did a number on you and we were at your bedside in the hospital. Saul suggested it in the hallway after you woke up." Walt could see a bit of hurt inching across Jesse's face. "Yes, that's right. And when I called Jack to order your death, I guess it was a bit like a pizza after all, do you know why I did that? It was my wife, Jesse. She wanted you dead and gone from our lives. She said to me something to the effect of, what's one more death in the grand scheme of things given all that I have done? So…I called Jack. It was easy. You wouldn't believe how easy it was." Walt stopped for a moment, seemingly just to survey the damage he wrought. Jesse's head was tipped back against the wall almost as though he was trying to put more distance between them. There was slight furrow along his brow. Walt moved slowly to Jesse's side of the bed, closing the space between them.

"Do you know who really wanted me to murder you?" Walt paused, heightening his dramatics as he sat beside Jesse. He planted an arm over his legs and said, "Huh? Do you know?"

Jesse began to shake his head and muttered 'no'. Jesse's discomfort was obvious, and so he continued, "Mike - your precious father figure. He wanted me to kill you. He came to my family home a long time ago specifically to tell me so. How does that make you feel?" The venom in Walt's voice was coating his words thickly.

Jesse's eyes started to glisten as they darted from Walt's to the ceiling. He was looking anywhere to avoid direct eye contact. He tried to move himself further away from Walt, but he could only shimmy to the other side of the bed. Walt leaned in closer to continue, "But, do you know what I did after Mike gave me his sacred and profound advice? I saved you, Jesse, from making a terrible mistake. I killed those two gang-bangers for you - to protect you. I saved you from yourself. That's what I did instead of killing you."

Jesse tried to keep his eyes on the ceiling as the force of Walt's words hit him. The aggressive tension of the room was somehow morphing into an emotional stew he felt he could drown in. He tried to remind himself these events took place before Mike knew him, before they had spent any meaningful amount of time together. Mike had saved his life once, he told himself, and he returned the favour in Mexico. He was running through these events, and making a tally in a bid to keep possession of himself, but Walt's words had really stung him. He remembered being so fearful of Mike after Jane's death, but he had grown to care for him, and felt the man had cared for him. The thought of Mike, and so many others, hoping for his death while Walt remained the one person championing his very survival was now breaking his mind in half. If he accepted that Walt was the one person during this entire descent into Hell that was on his side, he would have to accept he betrayed the one person he shouldn't have. His voice broke as he started, "You're lying, right? These are lies again."

"I'm not lying, Jesse. I was the only person looking out for you. I'm the only person who cared about you." Walt squeezed his good shoulder, but then stood up abruptly. He had managed to flip the argument in his favour, and was ready to move on. "I'm going to get in the shower…give you some space. I'm going to wash out those bloody clothes of yours as well, I think we're going to have to use them."

As Walt gathered the clothes and some toiletries before trundling into the bathroom, Jesse just sat still on the bed with his eyes glued to the ceiling. Walt's words had washed over him like an undertow, and he was now out to sea struggling to stay afloat. The bathroom door slid shut and he heard the lock click. As soon as he heard water run from the shower, he allowed himself to breath, and for a few tears to fall. Jesse had really thought he was on to something in thinking Walt was screwed up for not killing him. How did he end up doubting himself, Jesse thought, but no – Brock…and Jane. He repeated their names in his head almost like a mantra in order to drown out his doubts. _He poisoned Brock and let Jane die for you. He did it all to keep you with him, to protect you and keep you safe. No, no…_ Jesse was at war with himself, and he desperately needed clarity. He scooted himself off of the bed using his right arm, and looked around the room. He saw the gun on the table and lingered on it. I could end it all in a second, he thought, and I'd never have to hear that man's grating voice again. He took a step forward and leaned across the table to grasp it. A flash of Jack dead with a bullet wound in his forehead danced across his mind as he brought the gun to his chest and cocked it. Holding it in his right hand, he caressed the cold metal of the barrel with his free hand. He had a new affection for the feel of the gun in his hand: the weight, the unfriendly metal, and power he knew was lurking in the small barrel. The catharsis he achieved from firing into Jack's skull had stayed with him, and he knew in his heart he looked forward to feeling that again. He wondered if he'd feel it after pulling the trigger with the barrel resting on his temple, or if that split second would elongate, and regret would engulf him before the bullet tore him apart. He'd rather shoot someone else and watch the life drain out of them, he thought. Curiously, he looked to the bathroom door. The shower was still running, and he could hear Walt cheerfully singing as though none of their words from the last hour had phased him. He imagined busting through the door and pointing the gun at Walt. He'd make a special show of cocking it in front of him, and then wait until the man's fear forced him to plead for his life. Maybe he would make him get down on his knees, Jesse thought, just like he had been forced in To'hajiilee. He would give him the same long stretch he had been given with a gun pressed into him just waiting…and waiting…for the trigger to be pulled. Suddenly, Jesse slammed the gun down on the table. The vividness of his fantasy startled him and he was rubbing his forehead to banish the images from his head. Walt's words were seeping back into him: _I saved you. I killed those two…to protect you_.

Jesse stepped away from the table, and now knew the last thing he wanted was clarity. Walt was in the shower, and so it was time to hunt for the fentanyl's hiding place. His eyes darted around the room looking for Walt's bag. He spotted the crumpled bag resting on the floor under the table smushed right into the corner. He dropped to his knees carefully, and steadied himself with his good arm as he kneed his way under the table to the bag. As he reached it, he splayed it out, and began tugging at the zipper with his hand. Everything took longer with only one useful arm, but he kept yanking the zipper until it relented. With the zipper open, he could see thousands worth in cash bundled up. He started rooting around and pushing the stacks of cash to the side knowing they hid a layer of uneven items below. Then, he could see several pill bottles, and he smiled to himself. He started picking them up and reading the labels: fentanyl, hydrocodone, haldol…and then he saw it. "Shit," Jesse said aloud before buckling back onto his behind. There were two full bottles of morphine, and a stack of needles sitting at the bottom of the bag.


	14. Chapter 14

Jesse's hand wavered over the two bottles of morphine sulfate buried at the bottom of Walt's bag. They were the largest bottles he had ever seen. Most bottles he had encountered before were small, single-use ampoules sold by desperate relatives of the terminally ill, but these were huge in comparison. The situation felt like twisted providence to him, and he didn't want to waste minutes while Walt was still locked away in the bathroom. He scooted out from under the table with one of the bottles and a needle, and climbed to sit on the edge of the mattress. He would have to guess at the dose, but he wasn't the least bit concerned. If it knocked him out or killed him, he didn't care. Maybe if it didn't kill him, Walt would be sufficiently annoyed to leave him behind. He hoped he'd wake up a day later completely alone, and if there was any justice in this world, a stack of cash would be left for him on the table. He looked to the bathroom door and could see the tiniest bit of steam slipping out through the bottom of the door. The shower was still running, and Walt's absent-minded singing was just audible through the door. Trying to move quickly, Jesse began scouring the room for something to use as a tourniquet. He would have to place it just under his gunshot, and it would be painful for a few minutes, but the payoff would be huge: he'd feel nothing at all. He was still wearing just a pair of boxer shorts, and Walt had his former outfit with him in the bathroom. The table had snacks strewn about it still, but nothing useful was present. Then, on the floor he spotted a lone sock nestled on the floor against the dresser. After grabbing and stretching it between his mouth and hand, he placed the morphine bottle horizontal in between his legs. Inserting the needle, he pulled back the plunger to draw the morphine into the syringe. He pulled the plunger back past the 20 mark, assuming it would be at least enough to knock him out. He felt as though he was taking a spin, Wheel-of-Fortune-style, and he hoped the wheel landed on something bad, something permanent. He placed the needle in between his teeth, and began the arduous task of tying the sock below the wound on his left arm. He winced before crying out silently as he managed to tie it on the first try. He took the needle back from his mouth, and sat for a moment rapt in eager anticipation thinking about how good it would feel. He felt almost aroused as he imagined the rush sweeping through him. All of the feelings of devastation and grief inhabiting him were about to vanish for hours on end. Nothing could rival the holistic analgesic powers of an opiate, he thought, recalling the summer his aunt died, and how taking her leftover oxy's had made the grieving process just bearable. And, how after Combo died, meth was barely a relief and Jane convinced him that H was the best option. She had been right, he thought as he moved the needle to his arm. It was throbbing under the makeshift tourniquet, and his wound was quickly losing any clotting it had formed, but he didn't care. He slowly pierced the first vein he found, and pulled back the plunger until he could see a bit of blood. Satisfied that he'd done the best he could, he started to slowly push the plunger to release the morphine. Just as he began, the bathroom door flew open.

"I've left a sock out here some-" Walt froze when he saw Jesse huddled over with a needle in his arm. Two blue eyes looked back up at him, wide and stunned. Walt stared back at them astonished as he cinched a half wet towel against his stomach. He took a step forward and with a trembling in his voice said, "Stop…don't, don't do it, Jesse."

Walt's voice was plaintive and unusually quiet. Jesse had barely pushed a half milligram into himself, and was sitting with his fingers on the plunger looking up at Walt. He was caught in the act, and found himself unable to move. Walt took another step forward, and was waving a hand in front of himself as he shook his head. There was annoyance in his voice, but also a sadness as he continued to speak. "Take the needle out. Do you even know what that is you're taking?"

Jesse swallowed and quietly returned, "Yeah, I do."

Walt was now standing in front of him red-faced. He rose his finger to point at Jesse's arm, and said sternly, "I need that sock." Walt then ripped the sock off, nearly losing his towel in the midst of the struggle. Jesse cried out in pain, and Walt moved his left hand down to the needle that was still hanging out of Jesse's forearm, and yanked it out with a cruel force. Jesse yelled out and clutched at his arm as a crimson trail trickled out.

"You absolute fool! What were you trying to accomplish?" Walt roared. Jesse was now crumpled on the bed clutching his arm. Walt loomed over him continuing to point accusingly, and continued, "How dare you use my supplies! I need that morphine. It's mine, and I need it! How much did you take? How much did you do?"

Walt was livid as he knelt over Jesse, and began prying his eyes open with force to look at his pupils to see if they were shrinking. He then took his jaw, and yanked his head from side to side before releasing it just so he could slap him hard across the cheek.

"What the…fuck…" Jesse breathed out in subdued shock. Whatever little morphine he managed to inject was taking effect. Walt looked down on him embittered, and snarled at his piteous state before moving off the bed. He snatched the morphine bottle from the bed, and leaned under the table to grab his bag. He put it on top the table and returned the bottle to the bottom of the bag.

"I can't believe that after everything you've been through your default setting is still 'junkie idiot' – how is that possible?" Walt threw his hands up in the air and shrugged dramatically. The high had spread in Jesse, and he was lying across the bed looking back at Walt askew with the hint of a grin in the corner of his mouth. As he stood fuming with hands on his hips, Walt's towel suddenly dropped to the floor. An indolent giggle, or two, spilled out of Jesse as he raised a wobbly hand in his direction, "You're naked."

Seething, Walt snatched up the towel and stepped forward to point at Jesse. "You're a _fucking_ child," he yelled, before grabbing the bag from the table and stalking back into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind him.

The sound of the door slamming banged around in Jesse's head like a bowling ball bumping down a padded bowling lane. Everything was becoming thick and cottony as a pleasant high planted itself inside him. He worked his way towards the pillows on the bed and realized he could no longer feel pain in his left arm, and the deep pit of despair inhabiting his chest had dissolved. Everything was more brighter, and the bed was a hundred times more comfortable. He flicked the television back on, and it was still on the channel that only showed NCIS and its many iterations. The show was suddenly interesting, and the goth girl with the pigtails was almost cute.

After a murder and a few bad jokes, Walt emerged from the bathroom fully dressed.

"I washed your clothes and they're drying now. I forgot I cut the t-shirt to shreds. But, you're lucky. If they weren't wet and torn apart, I would be sending you out of this room in them." Walt was shuffling items on the table before he looked back to take in the state of Jesse, who was splayed out in his boxers and perched on all four of the bed's pillows.

"Is that so…" Jesse said in a groggy, thick voice. His throat and mouth were going dry.

Walt spun around to loom over Jesse with his hands back on his hips. "After everything, after being held against your will for a year…this, this is what you choose to do with your freedom?"

A silence hung in the air as Jesse ran a hand languidly through his hair, then dropped it to his side like dead weight. "I'm not free," he said in an odd, unnerving tone.

"Stop saying provocative things. I'm not arguing with you, especially in this state." Jesse's hand grabbed his shirt while he spoke, and was tugging at him in a pesky rhythm. This more than ruffled Walt who exclaimed, "Get your hands off me!" He pried Jesse's hand away as he continued, "What is _wrong_ with you, for God's sake!"

Before he could turn away, Jesse grabbed at his shirt again and murmured, "You ruined me."

"I'm so fucked up now…you really have no idea," Jesse continued, smiling as his glassy eyes slowly blinked open and closed. Walt hadn't really seen Jesse in this state many times: a state where he seemed to lack any filter of bravado on his words. Sure, Jesse often spoke like a person who wasn't filtering his words, but in truth he always was trying to present himself a certain way, especially in front of Walt. The exception to this being when he was overcome with emotion, and lost control of himself altogether. Walt had seen that more times than he cared to count. But, the young man wasn't on a silly high like marijuana, or an aggressive one like crystal meth. This was different, and Walt wondered if he would get a different brand of honesty from Jesse now. _Do I really want to sit here and listen to this drugged up idiot yet again blame me for every terrible thing that's happened to him?_ Walt was thinking it over; he couldn't decide if there was any benefit in letting Jesse talk in this state. His trauma was a pressing issue Walt needed to tackle, and he wondered if maybe he could glean a new insight into his time at the compound while he was in this compromised state. _Anything that may help him deal with the next outburst, the next panic attack…the next episode_. Conflicted, he took a seat on the edge of the mattress, and prepared to remove any aggravation from his voice. In the softest tone he could fake, Walt asked, "Why don't I have any idea? I was there. What did I miss?"

Jesse's reaction was just to laugh, and he began to tug at Walt's shirt again. It was annoying, but Walt now guessed it was some misguided way to satisfy a need; it was something he didn't know how to ask for. Walt never forgot that he was dying, but he had to remind himself that things would be easier with someone there to keep him comfortable. If he allowed things with Jesse to spin out of control, the two of them could end up caught, or worse. They had come so far, and Walt refused to let the last months of his life be taken from him. Jesse swallowed a few times, and weakly cleared his throat. Walt could tell he was already getting dehydrated, and so he grabbed a bottle of water from the table, and brought it back to him. Jesse thanked him, and gulped from the bottle. Walt said, "Why don't you scoot over, I'd like to sit and stretch out."

Jesse took two pillows and moved to make space for Walt, who sat up against the headboard. He stretched his legs out, and crossed them over before taking a swig of the water bottle himself. Jesse was still splayed out with his head resting on his good arm. His eyes were floating up at the ceiling. "If you could do it all over again, would you let this happen to me?"

Walt exhaled in a deep sigh as he straightened his glasses on his nose. He wasn't about to assume ownership of all the man's plights. "Which bit are we talking about here?"

"…Being a slave. Being used," Jesse answered quietly with his face snug against a pillow.

Walt rubbed his forehead a few times before dropping his hand to his lap. "I never in my life wanted this to happen to you. But, it did, so we have to to deal with it now."

One of Jesse's eyes cracked open to peer at Walt. His pupil was slim and dark. " _We_ have to deal with it? _We_?"

Walt saw this as an opportunity to sell how he envisioned the next few months going. This could keep Jesse loyal until his final days arrived. "Yes, it really is just us against the world now."

Jesse rolled onto his back, and sighed. "That's depressing."

With a laugh, Walt said, "I think we're beyond the luxury of depression, Jesse. We are surviving…existing."

"Well, you know what my feelings are on existing."

Walt's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Is that why you tried to take my morphine?"

There was a long pause before Jesse answered in an exasperated voice. "Maybe, I don't know. I just don't want to be like, awake. I just saw it, and thought it was a good idea."

"I know it's tempting, but you can't run from what happened. It won't work." He looked over at Jesse, who had rolled his face back into a pillow. "Why don't we talk about _it_ a bit. Just...skim the surface, see what's there."

"That sounds fucking weird," Jesse scoffed.

"Humour me," Walt started. He reasoned the morphine had dulled all of Jesse's pain, and so he pushed forward. "Were you always bound in there?"

Jesse's answer was muffled by the pillow. "Yeah, at first, definitely. But then not when I was with Kenny."

Walt slowly unscrewed the water bottle's cap and drank a few sips, not because he was thirsty but for something to occupy him as his discomfort rose.

"When we were locked in that room," Walt started, "Kenny called you his angel. Is that – did he always call you that?" He looked out of the corners of his eyes to see what affect, if any, his words had on the young man.

Jesse bunched up his pillows under his head. "Yeah, kinda."

"Did you spend a lot of time with him?" Walt was trying to speak slowly, and keep his voice gentle.

"Yeah. I mean, like outside of cooking." Jesse yawned, and stretched out to take the water back from Walt.

"What sort of things did you do with him?" It felt like an obvious question, but Walt thought it was prudent to start at a basic level. He knew only what he witnessed, what Jesse had told him about being chained up, and about those graphic visions of him trying to take his own life. He hardly had the full picture of the past twelve months. And there was Andrea, my god, he thought, how did all the pieces fit together?

The little dose of morphine had put Jesse in a safe space and his mind was open for visitors. He was firmly planted in the present, and speaking without moderation or worry. The bed felt cozy and he was enjoying the sensation of bundling the duvet around his legs. "I slept with him every night," he answered.

Walt's throat knotted. It was up to him to keep the tone casual and light, as though no malevolent force could seep in. "You slept in the same bed as him?"

Jesse was peering back at Walt with an air of contentment from the morphine. Walt found it startling to see him without his signature brand of uncertainty and sadness. He knew it was false, just a side effect of the morphine, and he wondered if it would ever be possible for Jesse to achieve this sense of safety while sober. He remembered the Jesse from the beginning of their venture, full of half-baked ideas and bizarre anecdotes, but who was so content when he was cooking. The young man could be focused and confident, and often thought he finally had life figured out. It all would usually manifest in an incredibly misguided fashion, like when he returned from rehab and pronounced himself Satan in the flesh. So sure of his identity was he that day, and so unbelievably wrong he was.

Jesse finally returned, "Yeah, and I meant we had sex."

Walt began wringing his hands without realizing. It was painful navigating his diction like this. "Wouldn't… _rape_ be a word to consider?" That word was out now in the open, Walt thought, this would mean progress.

Jesse draped the duvet further over himself, and simply responded, "No," outstretching his bad arm so that he had a finger poking at Walt.

"I saw…you two," Walt mustered. "It didn't look _that_ uh, consensual."

Jesse looked up at Walt, and then laughed into his pillow. "Nah, I know the difference. And you don't know what you saw."

"Don't you think that maybe you are blaming yourself for things far out of your control?" Walt hazarded; it seemed so obvious to him.

"Nah…we both know I blame you for most things." The high was making Jesse pleasantly restless and tactile. He was fluffing and bunching his pillows endlessly, skirting his hands over the duvet, adjusting his boxers.

"Are you familiar with Stockholm Syndrome?" Walt asked.

"Yeah, I don't have that shit."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Cause it's different. I hated them all. Even Kenny in the end."

Walt's left eyebrow raised itself considerably. "What did he do to make you hate him?"

Jesse lifted his top half up from the bed to face Walt. "He turned me out." Jesse leaned across him and grabbed the water bottle, and began gulping again.

Walt turned the words over in his mind, and his mouth. "He turned you out…" Walt was staring back at him waiting for the meaning to take hold. He had heard that phrase somewhere before.

Finally, Jesse stopped and stared at him. "Are you not up on pimp terminology or something? That's like a 1970's phrase. You should know that shit." Jesse shifted, and brought his knees to his chest. His chin was bouncing off folded arms.

"Why would I know anything about pimp terminology?" He guffawed, but then the smile melted off of his face as the meaning hit him. His jaw fell open and he was hit with a wave of potent regret. This can't be true, he thought, but things Jesse said earlier started to repeat in his brain. Walt had realized this was the reality of the situation before, but had been ignoring it. "How did he do that to you?"

Again Jesse answered with no hesitation. It was as though the words were streaming out just to be heard. "For I think six months, he gave me everything I needed. Everything. He took me from living like…like an animal, to being human again, and he ended up using that. I trusted him, and eventually he used that against me."

"Don't you think he was using you the entire time, Jesse?"

Jesse looked at him as his head rested on the folded arms atop his knees. "Maybe. But I wanted it."

"You _thought_ you wanted these things with him, that's how it works, Stockholm Syndrome," Walt corrected. He wasn't about to accept this absurd take on the situation.

"You're wrong, you weren't there." Jesse's voice rose abruptly, and suddenly there was an edge in glassy eyes. Walt nodded to acquiesce. He promised himself he wouldn't give in to an argument while he was in this state, there was no point.

Unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door. Both he and Jesse stared at the door for a minute before looking back at one another. Panic set into Walt's face almost immediately. Then Jesse said, "Should we answer it?"

Walt was shaking his head in response when there was a second knock at the door followed by a woman's voice. "I know you're in there, it's the front office."

A twitch of relief shook Walt, and he quickly stood up. "You need to answer the door. Here, take my sweater." He started disrobing swiftly and handed the sweater to Jesse.

Jesse was stunned, and moving slowly, but he put on the sweater. "What's our story?"

"Uh, father-son holiday of a life time…driving cross-country. You're having the best time of your life." Walt rushed out before enclosing himself in the bathroom.

"As if," Jesse muttered as he walked toward the door. He undid the chain and unlocked the door, and held it open only a foot to see a short, stout woman with her arms folded. Her greying hair was pulled back in a messy, greasy bun, and her face was dotted with age spots.

"Hey," Jesse managed to creak out in a dry voice. The sun was low, and beams were hitting his eyes.

"Howdy, sorry to disturb ya, but we need your fees."

Jesse was relieved. "Oh right, yeah my _Dad_ will pay you in a minute. He's just, uh…taking a dump right now." He was sure to say it as loud as possible so Walt would hear.

The woman gave him a dubious look as she proceeded to look him up and down. "Well, alright son. Tell your Daddy to come up to the front to pay right away, please." She smiled a very phoney smile, but then turned to head back across the parking lot. Before he closed the door, Jesse glanced around the lot that was desolate. The motorcycles were now gone, and only one car remained. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure standing smoking against a room door on the opposite side of the lot. She was a brassy blonde with deep, dark roots wearing next to nothing. A purse was limply hanging by a strap from her elbow, and she was dragging hard on her cigarette. She wasn't close enough to make eye contact with, so Jesse stared at her from the door frame without worry. She looked young, he thought, what was she doing out here? Suddenly, the bathroom door opened and he moved to shut the door. He took another look at the woman as she stamped out her cigarette feverishly before shutting the door.

"Quite the comedian," Walt said with an annoyed grin on his face.

"You need to go pay that broad now so we don't get kicked out."

"I will Jesse. I think I will need to risk going to the Walmart I mentioned to you, unless I can find somewhere here that does clothes. We need more supplies as well."

"Will you buy me cigarettes?" Jesse asked as he sat on the edge of the mattress.

Walt turned around and smirked. "Maybe."

About thirty minutes had passed since Walt left, and Jesse had his face smushed into a pillow on the bed. He was still moderately high, and enjoying the lack of pain in his entire body. He wasn't thinking of anything in particular when his mind drew him back to the figure he had seen in the parking lot. What was a girl that young doing out here, he thought? He knew what she was doing, but he couldn't fathom it in a small town like this. How old could she be, he wondered, she may be eighteen. But god, she looked too young to be out here doing _that_. He swore to himself thinking about this run-down motel they were stuck in, and about how badly he wanted a cigarette. Seeing her smoke reminded him of that glorious affliction. He hadn't smoked since before things got bad with Kenny, but before that time they used to smoke a lot. He'd have to ask for one each time, but Kenny never said no. Jesse lifted himself up off the bed suddenly trying to shake the thoughts of Kenny out of his head. Despite the high, he was beginning to feel a bit trapped in the motel room. He decided to sit by the window, and see what he could see. He dragged a chair against the wall, and sat to the side of the window so he could lift the curtain, and peer out without being readily seen. As he scanned across the lot, his mystery girl reappeared. This time she was walking along the row of room doors, and walking in his direction. Without even thinking, he rose to his feet and scampered to the door to fling it open. He did just as she passed, startling her. She stopped for a moment, and looked him up and down. Her hair was now in a messy, high ponytail which made her look more like a brunette than a blonde. She was petite, shorter than him, and the black tank top she wore was riding up her stomach. She also wore a cheap, black mini-skirt that was a size too big and covered in ash. Her face was round and cute with an upturned nose, but her youthfulness was covered over by a hardness, and there was more than a tinge of ferocity burning in her eyes. She scoffed in disgust as she looked at him in just his shorts, and turned to walk away.

"Hey…hey wait up," Jesse started, trying not to step out of the door frame. "Do you have a cigarette maybe?"

The woman turned back as she tilted her head in annoyance. Without saying a word, she began fumbling through a scuffed-up white, patent-leather handbag. She took out a pack of Wilmington's and snatched out a cigarette before shoving it in his direction. He took it slowly, and as she turned away, he said, "And a light?"

She turned around and stared at him. "I never give randoms cigarettes, but you look pathetic," she said, as she flicked the lighter to light his smoke.

"Ouch," Jesse said, as he dragged on his first smoke in months. Her words did penetrate him, but the morphine was keeping him on a confident, even keel. And the smoke tasted like Heaven to him. The girl seemed to be lingering a moment so Jesse was quick to keep speaking. "What's your name?"

"Randall." She looked around furtively before taking her cigarette pack out of her purse again. She lit up and folded her arms.

"What are you up to, here?" Jesse asked. Her head lurched forward, and she rolled her eyes.

"Are you serious?" She laughed, and took another drag. "What are _you_ up to here?"

Jesse laughed. "Absolutely nothing."

"Good. Me too." She glanced around again quickly, and then took a step toward Jesse. "Yo, one hundred bucks."

"What?" Jesse stretched his arm out to flick the ash off his cigarette.

"Yeah, a hundred bucks. You want it?" Randall was shifting closer to him with every word, and he felt himself retreating back into the motel room. He threw his cigarette away in time for Randall to take over the door frame.

Jesse was taking another step backward, and eyeing her hard. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen and a half last week." She smirked, but looked sincere, and Jesse felt convinced by the addition of the half year.

"Listen, I don't have any cash. You're wasting your time here."

"The fuck you don't. I saw that Cadillac parked out front before," she said, as she closed the door behind her. She took a few steps, and started pushing Jesse towards the bed. "You haven't got any in a while, have you?"

Jesse grabbed her by the arms to try and march her back to the door. "You can't be in here. And I honestly have no cash. My… _Dad_ has it all, and he's out." Jesse knew he couldn't have a prostitute in the room with no money; he didn't want to get his ass kicked yet again. He forgot he was shot, and as he tried to grasp her, the pain in his arm returned and he found himself gasping in pain as he pulled away from her.

"Are you okay?" She said as her eyes began scanning across the room. As Jesse faltered in pain, and eventually sat on the edge of the mattress, she walked to the table and started rifling through anything she could find. There was nothing of value, however, only snickers bars and garbage. Her attention turned back to Jesse. "You're not in very good shape, are you?"

Jesse just sat wincing while he held his arm. "Listen, I can do you a half price blowie since you're injured, and I feel sorry for you." Randall took her purse off and placed it on the table, and started taking her heels off.

"No, you really need to leave okay?" Jesse was pleading with her with his eyes, but she was immune to it. She started shuffling towards him on her knees.

"Are you afraid of Daddy catching you with a girl?" Her voice was taking a false, playful tone he was all too familiar with. She arrived in front of him and put a hand directly on his crotch. His whole body stiffened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he wasn't the least bit aroused. Noticing this, she moved her hand to his thigh and gently stroked it. He pushed his eyes open and saw her big, brown eyes staring back at him. They looked different than before; they had an innocence and a sincerity. "What's wrong?"

Worried about how he was making her feel, he put his hand on top of hers. "No, no…nothing. I just…this isn't really…"

His words trailed off, and even he wasn't sure what he was trying to say. Randall was beginning to notice the state he was in. "Where did you get all these scars? Did you go to war?"

"No, not really."

She looked over his body again, and then into his blue eyes. "What happened to you?"

He shut his eyes immediately, feeling her stare was too intense. "I'm not sure."

She stood on her knees and delicately settled between his legs. She placed a hand on his chest and started caressing it gently, up and down. He was incredibly uncomfortable, but he didn't know how to stop it, and part of him didn't want to, even though he knew it couldn't end well. She whispered, "You look like you're in pain."

"I am," he said. She touched her hand against his stubble and felt its edges. As she moved closer, he could feel her hot breath against his neck. Her other hand played with the elastic of his shorts as she said, "I don't normally do this, you know _Pretty Woman_ and all," she trailed off into kissing him slow and gently. It wasn't easy kissing her back; anxiety stalked after his desire. Soon both her hands were clutching at his cheeks as she kissed him harder each time. An ember of arousal was glowing inside of him, but his exterior was failing him. His hands were all but trembling as he moved them to the small of her back. He felt the soft skin under her tank top, and it felt so velvety. It had been so long since he touched a woman, and he was relieved at how different it felt to being with _him_. Randall was kissing his chest as she pushed him back down on the bed. She slid his shorts down and enveloped him in her mouth. Jesse bolted upright, and gripped her shoulders to try and push her away.

"Not that…just, not that," he said in a breathy whisper. He kissed her desperately, trying to cover up his fear. She backed away for a moment and half smiled. She shuffled to grab her purse from the table and returned with a wad of condoms.

"That's ambitious," he said, smiling as he pulled a piece of hair behind her ears. She said nothing, and climbed on top of him as he laid back on the bed. She straddled him, and his hands found their way up her skirt. His instincts were beginning to take over, but there was a darkness in his mind threatening to engorge him. He worried that the wrong move or touch would set in motion something in him he couldn't control. He pushed her underwear to the side and felt pure silk between his fingers. This could save me, he thought. He grabbed a condom and immediately ripped it open to start rolling it on. The girl he just met was grinding herself over him and he looked to her face to see she was absent, lost in the feeling. He pushed her back for a moment to roll on the condom, and then he watched her lower herself on top of him, enveloping him entirely. He held on to her hips as she rhythmically bounced on top of him. Staring up at her, he fought to stay in the moment, to not let his mind slide away to its caverns. He was rolling over phrases in his mind: this is good, this is fine, you're turned on, this is working. But it wasn't really working; he was trying desperately to stay hard. He pushed down her tank top and bra, and was rubbing her breasts. This is helping, he thought. He was finally starting to feel a build-up when the room's door flew open.

Walt stepped into the room with his arms full of bags. His head was down until he set a few bags down, and then his field of vision was filled with a tawdry image: there was Jesse with his hands full, getting ravished. He was at once disgusted and angry, but he couldn't risk whoever this tart on top of Jesse was getting a good look at him. He dropped the remaining bags, and left at once before the girl could get little more than a glance at him.

"Uh oh, you're in trouble now." Randall didn't once stop, and was increasing her pace.

"We better just finish." Suddenly Jesse remembered the morphine and continued, "You know, I'm stoned as fuck, I don't think this is gonna happen."

Randall stopped for a moment, and lowered herself to his face. "You're giving up far too easily." She moved over to his right side and he followed, kissing her as he adjusted to the new angle. It felt good, but it wasn't enough. He buried his head in her chest trying to delay the inevitable moment where he'd give up and ask her to leave. His thrusts were getting longer and slower, and he could feel a swell of sadness thickening in his throat and behind his eyes. Then, he felt a pressure in that little spot between his ass and his junk. He moaned into her chest, and then managed to breathe out, "What are you doing?"

"What you need. Fuck me harder." He moaned into her breasts again and obeyed, holding onto her hip as he slammed into her harder, again and again. He suddenly felt an overwhelming build-up, and knew he was moments from finishing. Her hand weaved into his hair as his panting increased and as he came, she held his head firmly against her chest. They laid for a few minutes in silence as she stroked his hair, and grasped his shoulder reassuringly. Jesse pulled up his boxers and sat up. Before he could put together the words, Randall was fixing her clothes and gathering her purse to leave. He stood up to walk her out of the room, but didn't have anything to say. Just as she went to open the door, she turned back to Jesse and said, "Pay me later, or fuck me later."

Jesse nodded but wasn't exactly sure what he was agreeing to, and watched as she left the room clutching her little patent leather bag. He held open the door and watched her walk off in the direction she came from, and before he could shut the door, he spotted Walt sitting in the front seat of the Cadillac. He was staring back at him with a cruel, hard look he'd seen a couple times before. Any good feelings rolling around in his head shot out, and anxiety took hold. This wasn't just going to be an argument, he thought. Maybe he shouldn't have fucked a hooker on the only bed in the room, and maybe he shouldn't have stolen morphine from the great Heisenberg and shot it up, maybe.


	15. Chapter 15

Jesse was wedged in between the door and the frame staring at Walt, who glared at him from the Cadillac. It was quickly becoming a stand-off, except instead of the drawing of weapons, it would be down to who dared to move a muscle first. If he was wearing any sort of clothing, Jesse would have bolted from the parking lot, even with no money or idea of the town's geography. Anything would be better than facing the rage of the man in the Cadillac. It felt like they had been arguing all day to Jesse, and now that the sun had set, he just couldn't see things ending without violence. He contemplated backing into the room and slamming the door shut, but Mr. White never backed away from a confrontation. So he stood there staring back at the mean, old man while leaning his head into the door frame. Within a minute, Walt slowly opened the car door before shutting it in a slam. He was stalking towards Jesse in pace so considered it was menacing. Jesse felt himself inching backward as the man closed the distance between them. Suddenly, he found himself saying, "Hey, let's not like, lose our shit or anything. No one died, right? Everything's cool."

Walt stopped in front of him with barely a foot between them. "No, everything is not 'cool'. Get in the room."

"Whatever." Jesse was trying to remain calm, but he knew if Walt started in on him, it was going to be like fireworks exploding.

Walt bolted the door behind them, and the vibration of the slam skirted up the walls. The room had the stale smell of sex hanging in the air, and there was still a strip of condoms on the bed. As Walt turned around, Jesse was on his knees picking up the used condom and its wrapper from the floor. He tried to put it in the waste bin as casually as possible, but he felt Walt's eyes searing into him. And then, Walt started. "What miniscule region of your brain began firing to lead you to bring a prostitute into our room? Is there a defect in there that identifies the riskiest and most repulsive option available to you?"

Jesse didn't speak. He was used to Walt goading him into arguments using melodramatic insults, and he tried to let his bounce off him, but Walt continued. "How did you even _find_ a prostitute? Did you wander to the nearest corner in just your boxers like some sort of sex criminal?"

"I didn't wander anywhere, alright? I saw her coming, and I opened the door."

"Do you have the brain of _bird_ in that wooden head of yours? Or is it vacant, or maybe rotten?"

Jesse's voice rose, "You can shut up any time now with the barrage of insults."

"You shut the Hell up and sit down," Walt cried.

"No way man, don't tell me what to do," Jesse replied, his voice throbbing with emotion.

"You took a ridiculously stupid risk, and for what? To get your hands full? Pathetic." As he said the words, his hands were rounded, gesturing rudely. Repulsed, Jesse snapped his head back.

"Why was what I did so risky when you just went to shitting Walmart and had your face out to like, a hundred people, huh? How does that make sense?" Jesse's eyes circled around, and he thought for a moment he'd made an impact. Walt just stood still and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side.

"You're asking me why having a hooker in our room was a much stupider risk than getting supplies for us to survive, and to literally put clothes on your back?"

Jesse groaned and stepped closer to Walt as he began to yell. "You're the one who shot me, got me covered in blood, and cut my clothes off!" He let out a long grunt in aggravation.

"Oh yes, Jesse, of course. What was I thinking? Oh, wait: you were going to _kill_ me. I saved you from yourself, Jesse. I'm _still_ saving you."

A pregnant pause engulfed the room before something like an explosion went off in Jesse's head. He rushed forward and pushed Walt's chest with his good hand as he said, "What have you _ever_ saved me from? Do you somehow think you're doing me a favour right now?"

Walt stood tall, and barely flinched as Jesse jostled him. "If it wasn't for me you'd still be chained up in that compound making paltry attempts to kill yourself."

Any high left in Jesse was now stamped out, and Walt's acrid words burned into his head. "You're trying to make out like I'm this pathetic, irredeemable mess but in reality that's _you_." Jesse's eyes widened as he gained momentum. "I'm all you have left and you can't even be nice to me."

Barely touched by his words, Walt sneered. "Be nice to you? What, would you like to get back on the bed and talk about your feelings some more? Maybe we can hold hands this time, is that more your speed?" His callousness was dripping over every word.

Jesse's heart was thumping nearly out of his chest as flashes of that afternoon's conversation visited him. A searing anger tore through his body, and he stepped forward grabbing a handful of Walt's sweater to drag him closer to his face. "I should have killed you at the compound when I had the chance." He let go with a push, causing Walt to stumble backward.

"Don't you dare put your hands on me!" Walt yelled. He grabbed Jesse's arms and launched him backward. As Jesse's tripped over his feet, he grabbed his wounded arm and swore. A recognition that the fight wasn't fair crossed Walt's face, and he was compelled to reach out a hand. In a flash, Jesse knelt down and grabbed his shoes that were laying under the table. He launched them in Walt's direction. One hit him, and the other crashed against the wall.

"You little brat," Walt said, as any modicum of sympathy stirred up seemed to dissolve. He rushed forward, but Jesse grabbed his ankles and heaved them upward. Walt managed to fall into a chair, banging his head against the table as he toppled over. Half on the chair and half the floor, Walt kicked back at Jesse aimlessly as he regained his composure.

"Serves you right asshole," Jesse bellowed. He turned away from him in disgust, and walked to the other side of the bed to sit facing the wall. Walt made it to his feet and simply stood by the bed catching his breath. Jesse dragged a pillow across the bed and sat clutching it with his teeth gritted, back still turned.

Walt started speaking in low and slow. "I should have left you there, in the compound. When Jack dragged you out in such a pitiful state I should have known then there was no hope for you."

Jesse clenched his jaw tighter before staring at Walt over his shoulder. He tossed the pillow in Walt's direction.

"Don't embarrass yourself," Walt said, as he caught the pillow. He placed it back at the head of the bed. "I should have let you rot in that place with your…friend."

The words hung in the air with a sickening heaviness that even mired Walt. Jesse's jaw hung open, and he clenched onto the closest pillow he could find.

"You were right with what you said earlier, Jesse. You are completely ruined." Jesse turned slowly to meet Walt's eyes, and Walt stared back with narrow eyes. Jesse's eyes were round and glistening, and Walt's chest puffed out in a rush a victory. Then, Jesse sunk down to the floor, flopping his head against the side of the mattress.

"That's it, fall to pieces. You are screwing up here, and you're going to get us put in jail. I refuse to spend the end of my life locked up after everything we overcame to get here."

Jesse was draped over the edge of the mattress biting his nails, staring forward, but not really looking at anything. Walt turned away, and started rifling through his spoils. He was taking out piles of clothes and throwing them to the bed before dropping some spare bills and coins on the table. "You can get dressed now, though perhaps this is your preferred state. There's food here too, but, just…do what you want." And with that, he slammed the bathroom door behind himself.

Jesse sat for a few minutes in shock. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut; he should have known Walt was merely rooting around his mind for anything he could use to hurt him. He just never thought even Walt would be that cruel. What could he expect from a vindictive murderer, Jesse thought. Still, he _seemed_ to care only a few hours ago; Jesse had been sure of it this time. Some of the things he said, and the tenderness, he was sure it was real. He wondered how anyone could fake those things. As his eyes came back into focus, he spied the clothes on the bed. He rushed on a hoodie over a tee and jogging pants, and scooped up the couple hundred laying out on the table, stuffing it into his pockets. He needed to get lost, and so he left the room without looking back.

Walt stepped out of the bathroom with a sigh. "I'm…sorry, Jesse. I shouldn't have…" He trailed off as he saw the door swing shut. He rushed to it and plunged out, searching the lot for Jesse. He saw him across the court nearly out of sight. He couldn't yell his name, nor could he chase after him. The risk of being seen together was far too great. Walt watched him clear the corner of the motel and drift out of sight. He swore, wondering if he'd ever see him again.


	16. Chapter 16

Walt's words were ringing through Jesse's head as he walked for block after block. It was nearing the dead of night and the lack of street lights made the strip he walked seem uncomfortably remote. He didn't know anything about Springerville except that Walt described the town as 'pleasantly dead' and that had been why it appealed to him as a temporary hideout. It was a town slightly disengaged from the rest of the state and the country, which made it the perfect place to go unnoticed. As he passed another short block, Jesse could feel the chill of the crisp air through his hoodie. He stretched the cuffs of his hoodie past his hands to cover them and decided to veer off the main drag. He started walking down a small side street hoping to find an inviting alleyway to collapse into for a while. He could hear the words spewing from Walt's mouth in his ears over and over and they rolled his stomach into a twisted knot. The intense burn of utter humiliation lit his entire body and he felt there was no escape. Slowing to brace the wall, he turned and slid down the brown bricks until his ass was flush against the cold pavement. He shivered as he rested his head against the wall. His eyes were low but open to the darkness surrounding him and he could just see the whites of his hands peeking out of his cuffs. There was a lump in his throat that felt the size of a baseball. A few labored breaths escaped and he was fighting the sting in his eyes. He swallowed and breathed deeply with determination. This is how Walt sees you now, he thought. His mind delved down into a buried moment.

"Are you happy?" Kenny asked softly. Jesse nodded and a hand brushed his face. "I've given you everything, haven't I?" He nodded slowly again with closed eyes.

He snapped back to the brick wall and the biting air sobered him. The idea of ever seeing Walt again was overwhelming. The man witnessed _it_ himself and he would never let him escape, Jesse thought.

Suddenly, a familiar sound was approaching him and getting louder with each step. It was the sound of cheap sandals hitting pavement at an uneven pace. It sounded just like Wendy traipsing toward him, and he wished it were her. The comfort of any familiar face other than Walt would revive him just enough to carry on. The footsteps halted and a wet cough erupted. Then, she spoke.

"Why're you sitting here?" It was Randall. She was in the same clothes from earlier and no coat.

"Just uh, nothing – just sitting." The cold air was penetrating his nose and he sniffed and rubbed it.

"I can see that. I watched you run outta your room. Had enough of Daddy for one night?" She lit a cigarette and pulled hard on it.

"Yeah, something like that…" Jesse trailed off. He couldn't decide if he wanted her to leave. Randall bent over and put a hand to his face.

Softly, she said, "Your face is cold." It was enough to make his eyes swell but she did him the favour of pretending not to notice. She grabbed his good arm and yanked him upward. "Come on," she said pulling him by the hand.

Randall closed the flimsy motel door behind them and locked the deadbolt. The room was warm and cozy but it was a mess. Cups, bags and tissues were perched across the room and there seemed to be more than few white towels piled over the tub. "Just take a seat, well on the bed. Guess there's no place else to sit."

Jesse sat on the edge of the bed feeling a sense of déjà vu from the afternoon.

"Ma is out for the night so if you wanna sleep, you can sleep."

Jesse was still hiding his hands in his hoodie. "You're here with your mom?"

Randall spun around from the table where she was fussing with plastic bags. "Yeah, is that so weird? You're here with your dad."

"Right," he nodded not wanting to blow his cover. "Where's your mom tonight?"

"She's working nights a couple towns over." Randall turned and extended a hand. "You want some of this?"

Dangling from her fingers was a dime bag of blue crystal. Jesse's insides dropped further than he thought possible. He stared at the little blue bag and willed his mind to stay in the present.

"Come on, I know you like this shit. The second I saw you I knew. Were you out looking for some? No one comes by this strip to sell. You have to walk two blocks East."

Jesse was trying with every ounce of will left in him to stay composed. He raised a hand and gestured toward the bag to get himself started. "That's uh, that blue crystal shit."

Randall snapped the bag back and dumped it on to the table before crushing it with a tube of lipstick. "This shit is so good. My Ma and I came from Alabama and as soon as we hit Texas this stuff was showing up. You couldn't always get it but the last few months have been dope for it."

Seeing her grind up the blue with enthusiasm was making him ill. Finally, she had a bunch of lines drawn out and she was beckoning him forth.

"You're my guest so you can go first," Randall said with a wide grin. She meant those words, and that made him feel worse. He rose as his mind scrambled to find a way out of this without making her suspicious.

"I don't really do that…anymore," he tried.

The the grin fell from her face and she looked at him plainly. "You're such a l'il liar." She grabbed his hoodie and pulled him closer before slipping the hand under his shirt. "Just do a little so it feels better."

He nodded as she handed him a tiny cut up straw. He leaned over the table and took a bump, closing his eyes as he inhaled. He couldn't see it happen. He backed away from the table and sat back on the bed. Within a minute the calm and euphoria swirled and he hoped he had the willpower to decline another hit. The smallest dose of crystal could be calm, blue oceans, but it was hard to stop at just one bump.

After taking her hit, she jumped on top of Jesse and started kissing him deeply. The ecstasy was overwhelming and every part of his body buzzed. The events of the night melted from his mind as his hands drifted under her skirt and he began pushing down her underwear slowly, enjoying every stroke against her ass. She threw off her top and disrobed his upper body rashly needing to feel her skin against his. She rubbed herself against him and within a moment he plunged inside her. It felt incredible and he knew it would last for ages on account of the crystal. His mind raced as they mashed into one another. Maybe he should run away with her, he thought; this made more sense than suffering humiliation after humiliation with Walt. Randall would never need to know who he was or what he'd been through.

An hour passed in this fashion. They both remained at the height of ecstasy, minds racing together and apart at once. For a moment, Randall withdrew to catch her breath. "Let's take five," she said as she giggled and stood up for water. "We can do more, it's cool. Fuck, we've got all night. Ma isn't back till at least ten in the morning. Let's do more and then we can get breakfast in the morning at the IHOP. Not that we'll be hungry but I like to have chocolate when I'm coming down. And then we can walk for a bit somewhere. There's not much here but it will be warm and the sun will feel so good on us." She stopped talking only to take another bump. She talked fast and Jesse could feel himself agreeing to everything she said. She reminded him of Wendy once again.

"Hey, it's your turn. Come on." She was pointing the straw in his direction. He tugged his pants all the way off before rising so he could walk to her. After taking his turn, he dropped to his knees to lick her.

"Oh, oh my god. Don't ever stop. Fuck. I'm so glad I'm here. This must've been why we had to leave Alabama. I was supposed to be here with you." Jesse felt the crystal compelling him to murmur in agreement as she continued, "And I don't think I want you to leave, ever. Can you stay forever?"

He hummed a yes and kept delving in between her legs. He could ravish her for hours and it still wouldn't seem like long enough. The crystal was playing him and he knew it; it just made him crave everything more and push him to take things further than they needed to go. He wanted to take her into the street, or the middle of the parking lot, and fuck her twenty different ways. He wanted to wake Walt up by fucking her against his door and he wanted to fuck her again on that bed while he watched…fuck, Jesse thought as he realized how high he was. His hands were practically digging into her thighs but she could barely feel it. The bruises tomorrow would be the only remnants.

"I want to tell you everything. Ma's a hooker but I'm not. I was just pretending before because I wanted you. I know you don't care, right?" He nodded as the adrenaline blocked any sense of relief at her admission.

"As soon as Ma left I watched your door all night, like a hawk, to see if you'd come out. And it worked, you did." She was babbling now but Jesse didn't care. Her voice sounded sweeter and more innocent with each word. "I never met a man with some depth before. I can see you got some mystery, but I don't care to know, you know? You've seen things in your life…" she cut herself off with a moan.

"You've seen things and I may have left school early, but I've seen things too…"

Jesse was squeezing and digging his hands into her thighs harder as he pulled his head away to mumble, "What?" His voice was breathy and gravelly and before she could answer he was back between her legs. His momentary lapse corked the words bleeding out of Randall's mouth and she caught herself.

"I left school and I don't miss it. I've seen more being out in the real world." She ran a hand through his hair and massaged him, pressing him in further. Just as Randall began to moan again, Jesse wrenched her hand away and pulled back. He stared up at her from his knees.

"How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen and three quarters." She ruffled his hair and tried to guide him back to her, but he threw her hand off.

"I thought you said eighteen and a half, you know, this afternoon." Like a lightning bolt, a streak of anxiety was tearing through him amplified by the meth.

"Well, it's closer to three quarters but almost like, equidistant. I love that word, don't you?"

Jesse sat back on the floor as his eyes scanned over the room. He was paranoid now and looking for anything to dispel the horrid sensation seeping into him. "Where's your ID?" The words came out full of worry.

"I don't have one. Why're you asking, what's happening?" Randall stood in front of him completely naked and confounded. Jesse's eyes worked over her up and down and he realized he was now somehow more disgusting than he was this afternoon when Walt declared him ruined. He stood up and started dressing himself thinking he should leave.

"No, no no…the crystal, it's making you think things that aren't real. You're supposed to stay."

"I'm gonna go," Jesse said as he zipped up his hoodie. Everything felt impossibly bad again and he looked to the table where a few more lines laid. He picked up the straw and railed two, grunting after the last.

Randall's face was scrunched up like she was trying to cry but couldn't. As he neared the door she stood in his way and started pushing him backward.

"Stop, stop it – alright? I need to leave."

"No, please, come on. You can't leave now," Randall pleaded.

And before he could stop himself, he started screaming angry words into her face. "If I stay, I could get arrested…for _fucking rape_!" It wasn't arrest that actually scared him, but the truth of what he may have done. The guilt that already imprisoned him would only be fortified. Rage was building inside him at this, and while she still pushed him back in a weak attempt to keep him from leaving the room, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her against the wall.

"Stop fucking moving. How old are you?"

"Eighteen and a half, like I told you I am." Her words were whiny and desperate.

"Stop fucking lying. How old are you?" He shook her against the wall and her head banged against it loudly. She swore and rubbed the back of her head while he moved his arm across her throat. "Tell me now how old you are."

"Stop it," she managed muffled by his arm.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he rammed her against the wall again and pressed his arm in harder. He had the urge to crush her throat with his arm; he wanted to keep it there until she was blue. He was leaning in to her harder when tears started trickling down her cheeks. She didn't gasp but he could see the fear in her eyes. He had put it there and it now frightened him. Suddenly, he backed away from her and then squeezed one of her hands as he began to apologize, but her eyes wouldn't meet his. The tears were rolling down her face and she had backed herself against the wall.

"Go, please leave," she said in shaky whisper.

He stood back from her as his own eyes filled with tears. The sight of her petrified and naked because of him was burning what was left of his soul. He opened the door to leave.

"Lock the deadbolt behind me, alright?" He said through tears. He sniffled then wiped his nose on his sleeve. She nodded but then hurried to the door pushing him out. On the other side, he heard the deadbolt click into place loudly. He took a few paces and looked back at the room. Within a moment the light went out and he turned to face the parking lot just as his high hit. He had almost forgotten railing those two blue lines. Suddenly, his body was tingling all over and his thoughts were racing toward clarity. He was staring at Walt's door from across the parking lot and knew he had no choice but to return.


	17. Chapter 17

Walt sat in a white undershirt against the cold bathroom wall. The cool tiles of the floor met the flesh of his thighs. His legs were splayed apart and he wore only his tight, white underwear. A nearly empty bottle of bourbon clanked against the tiles as Walt smacked it down heavily. He was drunk and alone staring at the room's door from the bathroom. He muttered Jesse's name and then took strangled sip, catching it in his throat. He coughed heavily for a few minutes knocking the bottle over only once. This is what it comes to, he thought. After battling for his life and Jesse's how quietly he would die in a town mere hours from Skyler, Holly and Junior. He wished there had been some way to get his money to Junior and Holly without leaving that cabin. As lonely and desperate as he became there, it had to be better than being subjected to the tragedy magnet that was Jesse Pinkman one final time and, most depressingly, then abandoned by him. Walt's mind fluttered over their argument. As disgusted as he was with the young man he should have made _allowances_. That's what he became accustomed to doing, for Jesse always needed special consideration even in those school days. The hint of a chuckle crossed Walt's mouth. And after everything he had been through now Jesse was more lost than when Walt had found him in his driveway crouching behind his Chevy so long ago. An image from the compound seeped into Walt's mind and the bourbon in his stomach churned with force. Why did I have to see it, Walt thought, and why did I have to live it? We both could have ignored this if I hadn't made such a point of being a witness to his goddamn trauma, he scolded himself. As his thoughts trailed off he took another sip. He considered why he didn't strike Jesse, or banish him, in lieu of grating down his soul until there was nearly nothing left. A whimper escaped. He tried to push it down with the bourbon when suddenly the door crashed open. Walt's blurry eyes tried to focus on it.

Jesse's good hand had swung the door open in a crash. He was coming up hard on the meth and now everything had an edge. He quickly fumbled as he shut the door loudly before darting his eyes around the room for Walt. He spotted him in his underwear looking messy against the wall. He sped the few feet it was to the bathroom.

"Why're you on the floor?" he spat out in a voice too loud.

"You came back," Walt breathed out and the sweet and sour of bourbon filled the tiny room.

Jesse picked up the nearly empty bottle. "Did you drink all this? You need to puke or some shit before you pass out." He spoke at an unnerving volume and pace but the veil of Walt's drunkenness shielded him from it.

"Was this like, your big plan with me gone? Drink yourself to death?" He was pacing and shifting at Walt's feet.

"I'm just so…glad…you came back."

Jesse managed to still himself for a split second as he eyed Walt. His voice was suddenly small as he said, "Are you?"

"Yes, yes…" Walt started with a warm smile. "I'm so relieved. I didn't want to die here, alone." He coughed a bit and sputtered.

Jesse's eyes doubled in size and he flung the bathroom door nearly off its hinges. "Will this ever not be about you and your dying wishes above everything and everyone else?"

"Calm…calm down." Walt threw a hand in his direction.

Jesse stood for a minute and bit his nails. "You drove us here so just so you don't die alone."

The words lolled around Walt's head just as it hit the wall hard.

"That's why you came back from wherever the fuck you were. You came to get me just to torture me till you leave this world."

"Listen, Jesse…I…maybe it's true, now. But it wasn't then, not when I came to Jack's. I came…to kill everyone, including you."

Jesse stared at Walt for a long minute. He kicked the bourbon bottle against the tub and smashed into countless pieces. Walt barely flinched and the words fell slowly from his mouth. "That's glass…everywhere. You…should keep your shoes on now."

"This'll never be over till you're dead," Jesse began grunting to himself. Jack's bloody head and the gaping bullet hole flashed in his mind. He wanted to see blood again; he wanted to feel its warmth between his fingers, filthy and slick. His eyes flew around the room looking for Walt's black bag. It was nowhere in sight and so he rushed to the table and started feverishly searching through Walt's Walmart spoils. He threw everything in his way to the floor until he found the keys to the Cadillac. As he hurried out of the room, Walt sat nearly motionless save for drooping eyelids.

Jesse sprinted to the trunk of the Caddy to unlock it and flung the lid open but it was empty. He swore and rooted around in the dimly lit parking lot before slamming it shut. He moved to the back seats and crawled in looking in pockets and under seats. Finally, the front seats and the glove compartment left him empty handed. He swore again and slammed the front door returning to their room. He stalked in and stood squarely in front of Walt.

"Where the fuck is your bag of shit?" He demanded in a gravelly, breathless voice.

"What?" Walt breathed.

"Tell me where the bag is or I'm gonna stab you with these fucking keys."

"Jesse, you don't…need…" Walt was nearing unconsciousness.

Jesse's shoes crunched atop the broken glass as he knelt in front of Walt. He grabbed his face and pushed it against the wall, squeezing his mouth open. "The bag, where is it?"

"Dresser…" Walt coughed as Jesse spun away and tore to the dresser. He slammed all the drawers open and shut before he found the big black bag. He threw it to the bed and ripped it open. There were now several guns in the bag and a hunter's knife in addition to Walt's portable pharmacy. He stared at it all with wide eyes and then picked up the knife and brought it level with his face. The blade looked about four inches long but it was like Walt put some thought into the purchase. It had a wood inlay and brass touches on the handle. He could have bought something cheaper and meaner, but he hadn't. Jesse looked over and saw Walt was fighting to stay conscious. He looked back at the bag and picked up some morphine and a couple needles, then made his way to the bathroom door frame.

"Walt," he yelled. He then kicked at the man's feet to wake him up. Walt snapped forward startled and looked up at him.

"Wake up, bitch, we're going to have some fun." Jesse grinned as he sat down on broken glass against the tub. He could hear its grind against the tiles but was too high to feel that it was also grinding against him. He kicked against Walt's thigh until the man was looking at him almost lucid.

"What're you doing, Jesse?" Walt sighed.

"I really like this knife that you bought. It's pretty." Jesse held it up in front of him and caught his reflection from several angles before dropping it to his side. He sniffled a few times then wiped his nose while Walt stared on. Suddenly he pushed forward to sit on his knees in front of Walt.

"Give me your hand."

"No," Walt returned exasperated.

Jesse yanked his left hand towards him and Walt winced aloud as his broken finger made itself known. He picked up the knife with his bad arm and moved it to Walt's palm. Like he was holding a crayon, he pointed it downward and began dragging it across. Crimson syrup began to pool around the knife's edge until he let up and the palm was coated. Walt grunted but his intoxication kept him immobile.

"Jesse…stop."

Jesse put his hand on top of the palm to feel the wet heat. He smushed his hand in and squeezed Walt's until he winced again trying to coax more blood to the surface. He sat back and surveyed the blood on his hand. It was thin and drying too quickly. He looked to Walt's eyes, which were drooped and pitiful as they followed him. He picked up Walt's bloody palm and began smearing it across the man's face purposefully dragging it across his mouth. Then, Walt's arm came to life grabbing the collar of his sweatshirt, pushing him back. Jesse grabbed the knife and dragged it across his own palm as hard as he could while staring into Walt's eyes as he did it. A small cry escaped his mouth as he finished and he quickly raised his palm to watch the blood surface. Walt kept a hand on his sweatshirt firmly and was trying to shake him.

"Enough, Jesse, enough."

Jesse shifted a leg out from under him and kicked Walt hard in the ribs a few times causing him to double over, coughing. He then withdrew from the man, knife in hand, and sat back against the tub. Panting deeply, he lifted up his sweatshirt and took the blade to the skin just above his pants. He traced it along for a couple seconds as hard as he could, then withdrew it, trying to catch his breath. He looked down and saw the blood pouring down to his pants. A moment of ecstasy was followed immediately with panic as the blood spilled between his fingers. "Fuck shit…" he breathed as he looked across to Walt, who was passed out on his side with mouth wide open and head pressed into broken glass. This is as good a time as any, he thought. He picked up a syringe and stuck it in his mouth then grabbed a bottle of morphine. His bloody hand took the syringe and pierced the bottle drawing up a few milligrams. He plunged the syringe into the closest vein he could find. Sitting back, he replaced his hand on his stomach to feel the warm blood seep out as the morphine took hold. His eyelids batted shut to blackness.

Walt pried his eyelids apart as he awoke on the floor of the bathroom. Nausea and a blistering headache jarred him as did the bits of broken glass still stuck to his face as he sat up. He wiped them away and then rushed to the toilet to vomit twice. He sat back and flushed, straightening the filthy glasses somehow still perched on his nose. He remembered stripping to his underwear and downing the bourbon but things were unclear from that point onward. He noticed a stinging pain in his palm and so turned it over to see a nasty, but shallow, gash across his left palm. A dreadful, nagging feeling crawled from his stomach to his esophagus. He turned his head slowly to gaze across the bathroom and saw Jesse slumped against the bathtub, head titled back and blood pooled around his seat. He looked dead. Walt sat still, stunned and quiet. His lips moved but no sounds came out of his mouth. Was this it, he wondered? _Oh god, please let this be it_.

He crawled toward Jesse brushing glass out of his way. He stopped to his left side and grabbed his wrist. As he moved to press his thumb in to feel for a pulse he noticed the deeper gash on the young man's palm. His jaw dropped and he looked at Jesse's head in repose. Then, he saw his hunter's knife lying beside Jesse and he just shook his head. He dug his thumb in and started to count and a faint pulse made itself known.

"For Christ's sake…" Walt sighed. He grabbed Jesse's face before slapping him hard. His eyes fluttered and he slumped forward. Without even seeing the discarded syringe, Walt knew what had happened. He gave up trying to wake him and instead lifted his shirt where the blood had soaked through. There was another shallow gash and he was beginning to put a picture of the previous night together. His aching ribs told him there was a nasty confrontation, as did the broken glass, but ultimately Jesse just hurt himself more than anyone else.

Walt stood up and gargled under the tap for a minute. He pissed and then left the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. He'd leave him there in his own mess and then, when he was sober and apologetic, they could talk about resetting things between them. Walt decided he would tell him just how little time he had left. He hoped it might change his perspective and perhaps the two of them could commit to living Walt's last days in some sort of relative peace. It wouldn't be long, two or three months at the most he wagered. Maybe he should have just spelled it out back when they were held hostage by Jack and his men but he felt it was hardly the time. He had put all this effort into giving Jesse a reason to live and trying to restore the smallest amount of dignity to him, it may not have worked if he knew how close to death's door Walt really was.

The room was in disarray and he knew it was Jesse who'd accomplished this feat. He pushed the black bag off the bed so he could lay down as his nausea rose. He put his head to the pillow and the faintest feeling of regret moved in him. He knew he would always sacrifice hand-holding for the bigger picture. Suddenly, Walt sat up on the bed. The guns and the money, he thought. He rushed to the floor where the black bag was and counted all the guns were present. Then, he removed the bottom drawer of the dresser and spied his stacks still sitting flush against the floor. There was no crisis, Walt thought, no irreparable harm done. He exhaled deeply and checked the time: thirteen minutes past nine in the morning. He figured Jesse would be out for hours yet and he was fine with that. Walt walked to the window and separated the blinds to see the sun for just a minute. Not a soul in sight and the sun was golden across the parking lot. He smiled for a minute before he realized what was missing: The Cadillac. He flew to the door and outside in his underwear. He scanned across the entirety of the parking lot and there was only one car left, an old Honda Civic red and rusted. Back in the room he searched feverishly for the keys and found nothing. He was now grateful he had the foresight to remove the money and the weapons from the car. A hazy memory of Jesse running out to the car last night filled his mind. _Jesse_.

Walt flung open the bathroom door and started shouting his name in a booming, unrelenting voice. When there was no response he started slapping him across the face so hard it was akin to punching. As a last resort, he hoisted him up and shoved him into the tub and then turned on the shower spraying cold water onto him on full blast. After a minute or two, Jesse began to stir and then speak in a muffled voice.

"Okay, stop…I said okay."

Unsatisfied, Walt redirected the water so it hit him in the face and tried in vain to make it colder. Jesse sputtered as the water rushed over his nose and mouth and finally his eyes opened wide. He spoke again and his teeth were already chattering.

"I said I'd do it so stop, turn it off, please."

"In your madness last night you left the keys in the car, and now it's gone."

"What?"

"We have no car because of you! We are stranded here until you get us a new one. Yes, you, because I can't go and negotiate the purchase of used car. Our fate is now in your drug-addled hands."

Jesse was hugging his knees in the corner of the tub. "I don't know what you're talking about exactly but if you please turn off the water I'll do whatever you say. I'll do anything, you know with you or whoever. Please, it's cold."

"Jesse, you just –." Suddenly, the words penetrated Walt and he scrambled to turn off the cold water. He hopped through the glass to get a towel from the rack and threw it onto Jesse, who draped it around himself and stood in the tub trying to kick off his wet sweats.

"Jesse, where are you?" Walt was forcing himself to run through the exercise.

"What do you mean? I'm here with you…in the bathroom. You're being an asshole instead of being nice to me."

"Who am I?"

"What?" Jesse was incredulous as he stepped out of the tub. "Shit, why is there glass everywhere?"

"What's my name?"

"Is this a game we're playing? Am I supposed to say I don't know?" Jesse was leaning against the door and looking at Walt sideways, making him uncomfortable.

"It's Walt, I'm Walt. We're not in Jack's compound. Are you here, with me?" The words were coming out strange and a bit shaky, but Walt only cared if they got through to him.

Jesse stared back at him for nearly a minute in silence. He was staring deep into him, through him and past him all at once. It was like his being was trying to align him to the present against some great force. Finally, he broke the silence.

"I need to piss."

"Okay," Walt conceded and reached for the door. Jesse lined up at the toilet and then said, "Did you stab me last night?"

"No, Jesse, you did that all on your own."


	18. Chapter 18

"Tomorrow you get the car and we leave by sundown at the latest," Walt proclaimed as he stood by the flimsy table. Jesse said nothing but continued sweeping the glass from the bathroom floor with a bit of newspaper into a plastic Walmart bag. He had long since come down from the previous night's meth and he was starving. Walt consented to pizza delivery but only if Jesse answered donning a ball cap and sunglasses while he hid in the bathroom. Walt's words were like the droning of an adult in a Snoopy cartoon to him.

"I think things just need a sense of calm from now on, don't you agree?"

Jesse pushed the last fragments of glass he cared to sweep into the bag and launched it into the garbage bin. His abdomen burned where he cut himself as did his hand but his bullet wound had finally morphed into a dull nuisance. A knock at the door appeared and Jesse rolled his eyes as he grabbed the sunglasses and ball cap from the table. Walt brushed past him to insert himself into the bathroom.

"This isn't gonna look suspicious at all," Jesse said flatly.

"Just do it," Walt retorted before slamming the bathroom door shut.

The two sat on the bed with the remainder of the pizza between them as an episode of _Ironside_ flickered on the television. Jesse was slowly ingesting his sixth slice while Walt sipped a can of Coke. The two had barely spoken since the pizza arrived. Piercing the room, Walt began. "Jesse, I really don't have very long left now." A cough escaped his throat almost for effect.

Jesse's eyes rolled toward Walt. "How long?"

"I think not more than three months, maybe four."

"Oh, what? And you wanna go cook some meth?"

"No, no. Don't be ridiculous. It's just, I don't think I made this clear before about why I came back when I did, it was about timing."

Jesse rolled his eyes again. "Were you like, I'm leaving this earth pretty soon so I better get my ass back to Albuquerque and make sure Jesse was killed as per my orders?"

"No, of course not. You didn't even enter into my mind at that point."

Jesse huffed and finished his slice loudly.

"I need you Jesse. I need you for my…end of life care." Walt started to cough harder and then took a long swig of Coke.

Jesse just stared forward with his arms folded across his chest. Finally, he said, "Why does it have to be me?"

Walt shifted on the bed and said, "Who else could it be?"

Jesse rolled his eyes over to Walt again before looking down at his dirty sweats. He brushed some pizza crumbs off his lap then took a drink from his own can of Coke. The idea of tending to Walt's bedside in his final days made his teeth grit. Then, a news anchor broke into the credits rolling on _Ironside_.

 _Tonight at 10: we bring you the latest shocking developments from the white supremacist murders in New Mexico._

Jesse's eyes shot up to the screen. Walt dialled up the volume on the television set.

 _Good evening. Tonight we start with shocking developments from the murders at a white supremacist compound outside of Albuquerque just last week. Gabriela Marquez is reporting live from Albuquerque with the details. Gabriela?_

 _Hi Jane. This evening the police released further details about the shocking killings at the compound and clubhouse headquarters of Jack Welker, a known white supremacist who spent many years in state custody. We knew that five men were killed last Friday, but each were believed to have been shot by a high-powered assault weapon. We are learning tonight from local authorities that not all the victims were killed in this fashion. APD have stated that two men, whose names have not yet been released, were killed by a military grade assault weapon, however that Jack Welker himself was killed by a single gunshot to the head from some kind of handgun. APD have also now told us that two other men were brutally slashed with a razor blade, which was found on the premises and has been placed into evidence. One man's throat was deeply slashed while the second man was eviscerated. The APD are releasing the names of these men in hopes that anyone with further information about their activities leading up to the incident may come forward. Their names are Todd Alquist and Kenneth Jones._

Jesse stared as photos of the two men froze on the screen. Walt raised the remote and slowly clicked the television off. He turned to Jesse and stared. Jesse just sat looking forward as he bit his nails. Walt then peered at his own slashed hand from the night before and then looked back at Jesse. The silence was beginning to stifle the room.

"Did you know you…?"

"No," Jesse returned almost robotically.

Walt stood putting some distance between the two of them.

"Do you remember anything at all?"

Jesse bit his thumbnail hard and spoke through his teeth. "The blood was warm, like hot."

Walt cleared his throat. "Let's just focus on our plan for tomorrow. I think we should head toward Sedona but find-"

"I'm not going with you," Jesse said still averting his eyes from Walt. "I'll get you a car or whatever, but I'm not going."

"Jesse you cannot stay here. In a matter of days the entire compound will be finger printed, if it hasn't been already, and your face will end up plastered everywhere. As well as mine. We _have_ to move."

"I need to do it on my own."

Walt moved toward the bed. "Is that what you think - because of what you've done?"

Jesse looked back at him with his eyes changed. There was no longer rage nor an alien quality present as there had been when he had returned in the early morning. Instead they held a lugubrious calm.

Walt started again, "I will be worm meat much quicker than you think. There's no need to worry about what you might do."

"This is where we part, Walt." Jesse spoke slowly and stared at him hard. "This…is it. No more arguments, no more manipulation. Let me go again, like you did before."

Walt stood silent for a moment before he said it. "Okay."

He picked up a new can of Coke and with a faint smile told Jesse he was going to step outside for just a minute to get some air. He stood outside for ten minutes facing the door to the room. He cracked the can of coke open and drank it like it was coffee, sipping hard and fast.

Inside, Jesse was sitting at the edge of the bed facing the inner wall. His eyes were wide but he wasn't seeing the wall; a rush of images were running through his mind. He could see his hands in a pool of warm blood on the floor, then the bodies of Kenny and Todd piled in the white room where they were held. He could feel Kenny's insides in his hand and he could smell the blood mixing with sweat and cheap cologne. He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he chanted in his head.

In the late afternoon sun of the following day, Jesse arrived back at the motel with the best used car he could muster with the five-thousand-dollar budget Walt gave him: a Chrysler Town and Country, which was a Chrysler mini-van. It was a golden beige and he parked the monstrosity in front of the room straddling two spaces. The noise of the car brought Walt to open the door and his mouth fell agape immediately. Jesse hopped out of the van and dangled the keys in front of him. "These are all yours," he said and brushed past him into the room. Walt slammed the door quickly.

"We agreed this one was worst-case-scenario only, Jesse."

"Yeah, and we're in the worst case. One of the guys didn't even show up. And the Ford was just not even gonna run after a week, I'm telling you."

Walt huffed as he sat down.

"This'll be more incognito or whatever, right?"

"Sure," Walt returned with a distance. His bag was packed and sitting near the door. Jesse spied it as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"So you're ready to roll?" Jesse's words came out stilted. There was something he needed to ask, but he had put it off until the last possible moment.

"I am, yes," Walt returned in a downbeat tone. He stood and fussed with his bag. Jesse guessed he would do anything to drag this moment out.

"Could I, maybe…I mean, would you…" Before he could finish Walt had turned around with a plastic bag.

"Take this, Jesse." Walt shoved it into his hands. When he looked inside, he could see it was filled with rolls of cash.

"I can't take it with me," Walt said with a warm smile lifting his face. Jesse just nodded.

"Just going to use the restroom and that'll be it, I suppose," Walt said, appearing to Jesse like he was avoiding some sort of emotional breakdown. There was a rock in the pit of Jesse's stomach but he knew in every fibre of his being that this was the right choice. There was no telling what would become of them if they stayed in each other's company even a day longer.

Walt enclosed himself in the bathroom and Jesse counted the wads of cash. He wouldn't want for anything for a long time as long as he kept out of prison. He set the bag aside and grabbed his head as he took a deep breath. He would need to get another car tomorrow donning the ball cap and sunglasses getup once again, he realized. But, then the future was _his_. What road would he take and would it be north, or south, he wondered. If he chose south, he could cross the border back where he and Gus traversed on foot after the massacre and make his way through Mexico. If he managed to make his way to the Gulf of Mexico, he could get a boat and then head for South America. He smiled for a moment thinking about making it to Colombia, a place he talked of visiting with Skinny Pete and Combo often. The smile fell off his face as he remembered Combo saying how he'd go to great lengths to smuggle the whitest white he could find in Colombia back to Albuquerque so he could sling it. He let his thoughts drift to heading north through Nevada toward Oregon where he could again find a boat and sail away. He remembered his dreams of a quiet life in Alaska where he could work with his hands and maybe even catch fish in between dodging icebergs and whales off the coast. It was idyllic and eventually he pushed it from his mind knowing he didn't deserve such a grand fate. He should prepare to head south and for all the danger that would accompany crossing Mexico. Perhaps Walt could spare me that knife and a gun, he thought. Just as he thought to yell to Walt, he heard a chilling thud come from the bathroom. It was followed by silence.

"Yo, Walt?"

The silence hung in the air.

"Seriously Walt? Walt?" He went to the door and banged a few times before trying the door handle, which was locked.

"Shit, hey open the door – Walt?"

Jesse started throwing himself into the door hoping the hinges were weak enough to peel from the wall. After smacking into the door five times, they did and he was able to push the door in a foot before it hit something. Walt was laying on the floor and a trickle of blood ran from the back of his head. Jesse stared at him for a moment. He was so lifeless Jesse wondered if this was it: had _the_ Heisenberg finally bit the dust so unceremoniously? At least his body wouldn't be left to rot somewhere clandestine, he thought. Walt's plan to hide away in Sedona had made him envision the liquefied remains of his body only being found six months after the event. Jesse kneeled on the floor and put his hand over Walt's mouth to see if he could feel breath. He did and he lightly hit the side of Walt's face to see if he would wake up easily. Walt remained unconscious and panic began to rise in Jesse. He couldn't leave Walt like this or…could he, he wondered. He surmised Walt would wake a few hours later confused and maybe he'd even think Jesse was to blame for his state and so be relieved of his absence. He'd have to leave on foot, but it was now six in the evening and once the sun was down he'd be alone in the pitch black walking deep into the middle of nowhere.

Jesse slumped beside Walt on the tiled floor and swore. Neither of them should stay in the motel for even another night given the activity at the compound. They needed to be moving along to the next city and the only way to do that now was for Jesse to drive them both; he was trapped with Walt.

"Fucking shit," Jesse said, cradling his head in his hands. "I can't fucking get rid of you," he yelled to Walt. He wanted to kick him as hard as possible, to pummel him and then just desert him by leaving in the van with all the money. He did none of those things.


	19. Chapter 19

It was just past four in the morning, and the first glow of dawn was spreading from the horizon. Jesse's nearly silent eight hours of driving were disturbed only by the uneven snoring of Walt rippling out of the backseat. The roads had been relentlessly dark for the past five hours; headlights rarely glared in his windshield, and his only company had been long-haul trucks loudly lumbering to pass his irredeemably slow Chrysler mini-van. As the next hour wore on, and he wound his way near, and then through, Salt Lake City, it occurred to Jesse that he couldn't remember the last time he drove. This was the first time since captivity he had control of the wheel.

In the panic following Walt's collapse, and his awkward struggle to get him into the van unnoticed, he had thrown away any thoughts of heading to the Gulf of Mexico. He conceded that they needed to find a remote location so that Walt could expire in relative peace, and Jesse nearly groaned recalling the thought. He had no intention of staying with Walt until the end. Once the man was stable and comfortable, he would make an escape into the night.

Finally past the city's limits, he saw signs for the next smaller, and less conspicuous, town: Bountiful. Exhaustion and hunger drove him to the local Motel 6, and the ball cap and sunglasses guise raised no eyebrows in reception, despite the sun's absence. He parked the van perpendicular to their new room's door, and then pressed the button on his key chain to open the passenger door. It glided backward comedically slow to reveal Walt slumped forward against his seat belt, glasses dangling from his nose.

"Jesus," Jesse muttered, as he rushed to push Walt back against the seat. He clapped against the man's cheeks a few times, trying to stir him quietly. Walt's eyes flickered, and soon he sat forward looking at Jesse.

"What happened?"

"Can you walk? The room's there."

Looking disoriented, Walt unfastened his belt and stumbled from the van. Jesse passed the key to his hand, and he stiffly walked to the room to unlock the door. Jesse entered a few minutes later to see Walt seated on the edge of the mattress, straining to catch his breath.

Pocketing the room key from the table, he looked at Walt curiously. "Are you…okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Walt wheezed.

"You wanna sleep, you hungry?" Jesse was purposely using his loudest, warmest voice that was ever so patronising.

"What happened, Jesse? You were…leaving."

Slumping against a dresser opposite the bed, Jesse sighed. "You fell…remember?"

"No, I – I don't have any recollection."

Jesse could see the discomfort in Walt, and how he was still struggling to inhale fully. It reminded him of a hot, sandy day in the desert when Walt made him finish the cook on his own, and it had been when he realized the man was terminal. Despite his diagnosis, he rarely saw him suffering from this day. Most of the time it felt like Mr. White was invincible.

"Well, you know I bet it was from all that booze you drank, right? What was that, a forty of bourbon? Crazy." He ruffled his hair, and looked down at his shoes. He could see a recognition crossing Walt, and he hoped the man had nothing more to say to him about the events of two evenings ago. The gashes on his hand and stomach were still raw, and reminding him with every movement how stupid he had been.

Walt laid back on the bed, clutching his chest. His breaths were shallow, but quiet, and Jesse guessed he just needed some rest. He brought a plastic cup of water to the table next to Walt, and after a quiet thanks, he laid atop the covers on the opposite side of the bed. He hoped to sleep for it would be another ten hours to reach the exact place he had in mind.

The bed shook, and Jesse woke, frozen in silence against his pillow. Someone bulkier than he was laying down beside him while shifting the pillows one by one. He could feel the comforter he laid upon being yanked down the bed from beneath him, and every forceful tug had him squeezing his eyes shut harder. He stayed as still as possible so as not to betray himself as awake, and soon he could feel the comforter being laid atop him. A hand rested on his shoulder, and he jolted against its touch. He buried his head into his pillow, hoping at least he wouldn't be forced to watch what was about to happen to him. The hand had bounced away at his jolt, but he could feel weight shifting in the bed as though someone were peering over him. He hated when Kenny watched him like this. Sometimes he couldn't stand just waiting for it, and he would flop to his back and initiate it himself. He decided to do just this, and rolled over. He put a hand out to the man's chest, and dragged a finger down it lightly.

"Wake up," a voice said softly.

"I am awake," Jesse returned.

The man snatched the hand from his chest, crushing it as he pushed it to Jesse's side. The weight beside him on the bed lifted away, and he could tell he was being deserted.

"What, am I supposed to keep pretending?"

He could suddenly hear a bracing cough breaking through, and then the violent beams of midday sunlight hit his eyes. His brain was racing, knowing there were no windows where he thought he was. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes. "Jesus, I didn't mean to-"

"It's nothing." Walt's cough had stopped momentarily.

"I just…"

"You're getting there, I think. This is the first time you've been so lucid this quickly..."

Walt's warm tone unsettled Jesse, and he just stared at the blank television screen. He didn't think he was getting better, he just thought he was getting better at recovering from insanity. A pause passed, and Jesse stood.

"We need to eat, and then move. We've got ages to go yet."

"Ages to where exactly, Jesse?"

"Montana, near Yellowstone actually. I got a line on a cabin. Looks real remote." He stopped for a moment. "What do you think?"

A faint smile crossed Walt's face. "That's fine. Good work, son."

The word was like a hand ripping his stomach out from his asshole. He gripped the black bag, whitening his knuckles, and left the room without looking back. Teetering behind him was Walt, who settled into the back seat of the van once again. Jesse closed his passenger door remotely, and shook his head. Ten more hours, he thought, ten hours and we'll be as free as money can buy.

"We're only a couple hours from the cabin, there's no need to stop now," Walt complained.

"Listen, I'm the one driving here, so what I say goes. I'm hungry, and this place is called Butte. Butte, Montana."

"A year with neo-Nazi's, and you're still so childish. How can that be?"

"How can you still have no sense of humour after everything your ass has been dragged through, huh? You'd think a man this close to death would have a better outlook on life."

"Just, let's hurry, alright? This is a risk, and an unnecessary one."

"Alright, pipe down. Look, there's a burger shack thing. 'Bonanza Burgers' – wow, what year is it up here?"

After navigating the drive-thru, Jesse drove to park closer to the highway so the two of them could eat in peace. Despite his protests, he knew Butte was a tiny town, and so he was trying to be a bit cautious. As cars passed them hurtling toward the on-ramp, the two devoured their cheeseburgers and milkshakes.

"Take it, take another ring."

"No, no – that's – alright, fine." Walt took another onion ring from the bag.

"After we eat this, I need to use your burner phone to call the woman on this ad. Then we might need to hit a Western Union or something. I figure she shouldn't get a bunch of cash from me directly, you know?"

"Hm. That could work." Walk took another bite of his cheeseburger. "Perhaps we can hide me right in the back of the van."

"Yeah, for definite. This is so gonna work." Jesse stared ahead, finishing the last morsel of his burger. He sucked on the straw of his milkshake hard until it strained to pick anything up.

"Jesse," Walt started.

"What?"

"Where did you go the other night, you know, after we fought?"

Jesse ate the last onion ring and scrunched up the paper bag. "Nowhere, and I ain't talking about any of that shit."

"Jesse."

"What?" He was annoyed now, and trying hard not to fall into an obvious Heisenbergian flytrap.

"Don't you think it may be good for us, since we're not parting ways, to talk about what happened?"

Jesse exhaled deeply, then turned to face Walt who still sat in the backseat. "Are you done eating? 'Cause I think it's time you got in the back of the van."

Slowing in the dirt driveway, the van crunched across branches and mulch to pull up before a cabin nestled in a myriad of trees. The owner had described it as secluded, and Jesse was relieved to see it was. The Western Union trick worked, and it gave the owner the impression that his financier, located somewhere else on the continent, was taking care of his money. The story he gave her made him out to be some sort of heir trying to get away from temptation, and he requested her secrecy with the most gravity he could muster. Mrs. Busby had handed him the keys happily, and wished him a fruitful six months of privacy.

The cabin itself was two stories of wood panelling with a grand, bay window and deck overlooking Flathead River. There were three bedrooms, a couple living rooms, and even a games room. They didn't need a space this size, but Jesse was beside himself. After putting away a small haul of groceries, a task that felt incredibly novel to him at this stage, he wandered to the living room to see Walt on the deck watching the river. Lighting a cigarette as he joined him on the deck, he said, "It's nice, isn't it?"

"It is," Walt started. "Though, I can't help but notice it's not exactly near Yellowstone." The tiny smirk emerging curled in the corner of his mouth.

A subdued laugh escaped Jesse's mouth as he leaned on arms over the railing. "It's some other park I guess."

"Glacier National Park, I believe."

"Sure," Jesse said. He was watching a woodpecker crack away at a cedar tree merely ten yards away. "Woody Woodpecker, in the flesh."

"How exactly did you find this place again?"

"Oh, just an ad in the paper for rentals, like holidays and stuff." He didn't turn around, and just puffed on his smoke, enjoying the mix of crisp, northern air and tobacco in his lungs.

"An interesting choice to advertise a Montana holiday home in an Arizona paper."

"Yeah," Jesse forced a laugh. "Not everyone's into that stifling, desert heat when they want to chill, I guess." As silence lingered, Jesse knew Walt was dropping the inquisition tactically, as he was sure it would prove useful to the sadist later.

"This place is more beautiful than I deserve."

Without missing a beat, Jesse returned, "You got that right."

"Jesse," Walt started, pained.

"Nah, it's cool. This is a good place to kick it, the bucket I mean. Nature, and all that shit." There was a calmness lapping at Jesse now, and an eerie warmth.

"What I said to you the other night, about being ruined and…leaving you there, with that man. I didn't mean those words."

Jesse dragged on his cigarette, and looked back to Walt, who was sitting so plainly in his deck chair. His posture was as correct, and stiff, as it ever had been, and his arms were resting on both armrests like he was some sort of statue.

"I was with that girl again, the other night. You know, you asked me where I went, well I ended up with her. She had blue crystal, my crystal."

Walt swallowed hard, but said nothing.

"She was underage."

A sort of sickened expression rounded Walt's face. "How underage are we talking about?"

"You weren't wrong in what you said." Jesse stubbed his cigarette out against the deck. "Shit." He started to brush the bits off the deck, but there was now a tiny, black circle where he burnt the wood.

Walt motioned for a cigarette, which garnered a look of incredulity from Jesse. "I have a foot in the grave, please."

Jesse handed him a cigarette. "I nearly killed her when she told me."

A gasp of shock huffed from Walt.

"I don't know. What's wrong with me, you know?" Jesse nearly laughed as the distance now made the past year seem like an absurd nightmare to him. He wondered if maybe Randall was a figment, just a manifestation of trauma from surviving the compound. His heart jumped; maybe I never hurt her, maybe I left her untouched. He stalked away to the deck's rail again, letting his eyes bounce off the glistening blue water of the river. It was so blue it was nearly aquamarine, and he instantly was imagining diving in, and swimming to the centre just to let himself sink. There was a pristine quality to this wilderness, like something he'd seen on the Discovery Channel, and he knew that for once he was where should be. As he smirked to himself, his eyes dropped to the rugged path below the deck that snaked through trees to the river. A brown mass bumbled through bushes toward the house. He went white, and slowly turned back to face Walt.

Dragging on his cigarette, Walt began, "A lot of people feel that something is intrinsically wrong with them after suffering trauma, especially trauma as severe as you suffered. Guilt is very normal feeling, as is rage, or a sort of unquenchable longing. And your post-traumatic stress disorder is your brain trying to work through the shock of the trauma, though in a very unhelpful way."

"Bear, I can't…bear." Jesse was stammering.

"It's normal to feel like you can't bear the weight of what happened. And I'm talking about everything, not just this man's actions. We really should start using his name; that will help you in the long run."

"No, BEAR. There's a bear down there!" Jesse nearly yelled it, and there was an audible growl from their visitor.

Walt's eyes went wide, and he shot up from his chair to peer over the railing. There was a big, furry bear with that unmistakable hump between its shoulders stalking toward the house. Walt put a hand on Jesse's shoulder, and started pushing him away from the railing.

"It's time to go inside." He walked Jesse in, and quickly locked the sliding door behind them.

"Yo, is that a grizzly bear?"

"What do you think?"

For the next few days, Walt was mostly bedridden, and spent his waking moments in a violent state of hacking cough. Jesse brought him water and soup, and kept insisting that his present state was due to the cigarette he smoked, or the bourbon he drank, or exhaustion from the action they saw. Walt would nod along with his reasoning, but Jesse knew the man had written himself off a bit prematurely. Walt looked nothing like his aunt did in her final days, and he knew that unless there was a dramatic change, they had months left to manage.

It had hardly been over two weeks since they escaped the compound, and both were struggling to sleep soundly. Walt had taken the master bedroom as they agreed it would be easiest for him to manage with an en-suite, although it meant he would be on the second floor with no access to the kitchen once he was unable to traverse the stairs. Jesse told Walt he would take one of the guest bedrooms near to his, but in truth he had spent every night in a different room since they arrived in Hungry Horse. The first night he slept on the deck so that he could fall asleep looking at the stars, after having convinced himself that grizzly bears could never climb the furniture he mounted at the top of the deck's stairs. It proved a sleepless night, but he pissed off the balcony gleefully at three in the morning, and managed to see two shooting stars. The second night, he slept on the large, cushiony couch in the living room that he reckoned was the centre of the house. The moon shone through the grand window and kept him awake, but he didn't care. Any time he felt slightly uncomfortable, he changed positions on the couch, often switching top and tail just because he could. The only room in the house he avoided was the children's room on the ground floor on account of its bunk beds. Tonight, he was in a guest room next to Walt's, and he could hear the man's coughing intermittently. Walt stocked his bedside table with his pharmaceuticals, and he knew how to administer everything he needed. Jesse was instructed that only if Walt called for him in the night should he come in. He rolled to his side as another coughing fit reverberated through the drywall. It was unrelenting, and Jesse gave in to the urge to check in on him with a cold compress. He entered the room without flicking the light on, and bumped his leg against a chair. "Crap."

"Jesse?" Walt strained through a cough.

"Yeah, I'm hitting the lights." Now illuminated, he could see Walt doubled over the edge of the bed, dry heaving with his coughs. Jesse sat next to him, and gingerly pressed the cloth against the man's forehead.

"Go on, back to bed," Walt ordered as he leaned back to his pillows, his hand taking over the cloth on his forehead.

"I'm not sleeping," Jesse said, with eyes clearly drooping.

An incredible sigh escaped Walt's mouth. Jesse's eyes darted to Walt's face, who was half grinning before another cough erupted. As his lungs calmed, he spoke in a brusque voice, roughened from the constant hacking. "I keep turning it over in my mind. Hell can't possibly exist, can it? It defies all known scientific laws, but you know there is the smallest little part of my brain that keeps chirping, what if? I'll be the first of us to make an entrance."

Jesse was softly kicking a leg against the side of the mattress. "I don't think you get to make an entrance. I think you're zapped into eternal torture, like using the transporter on Star Trek."

"Those men in prison I killed, Mike's men. They were hardened criminals, the type who would be there."

"Mike will be there. He'll be turning the crank on one of those medieval boards that stretches you 'till you break into pieces." Jesse looked at Walt just so the man could see he was serious.

"It was a mistake," Walt said, coughing and throwing his eyes to the heavens.

"A mistake is forgetting to pay a bill, not murdering someone."

"Ah, so maybe you see that Gale was not a mistake after all." Walt shifted the cloth, and sat expectantly, waiting for a retort.

Jesse seethed in silence, wringing his hands against his chest. Those words, with their trace elements of flippancy, plunged into the part of him still simmering, and he now had the urge to make Walt's cough worse. He pictured the white cloth stuffed in Walt's mouth, and his hands grasping his neck so tightly that he could hear his vertebrae crunch. Jesse stood, and let his eyes linger on the cloth as he leaned over Walt. The man's eyes were slightly dulled, and drooping terribly. Jesse peeled the cloth away with one hand, and smiled faintly before his other hand ripped Walt's mouth open by the jaw, and rammed the cloth in. Immediately coughing against it, Walt tried to push against Jesse's chest, and then reciprocate his strangulation, but as the illness had slowed and weakened him, Jesse was choking him with both hands long before he could secure any grip of his own. Still, Walt's hands scraped at Jesse's, trying to wedge his fingers in at some angle to gain leverage, but Jesse just pressed harder against the man's arteries. Five minutes, he told himself, at least five minutes and he will be free. His mind tuned into the first time Kenny choked him like it were some sort of broadcast. There had been an overwhelming sense of relief at the thought it would be his end, but this gave way to the most depressing, yet all-encompassing, orgasm when he realized it was merely for sex. He had strangled Kenny in retaliation, but it only escalated their exchange. He could now see the veins in Kenny's head jutting and throbbing as he squeezed his neck, but the man's devilish smirk bore into him through gritted teeth. Jesse leaned into his grip on his neck with all his body weight, and panted, "You have to die…you have to die and stay dead."


	20. Chapter 20

Panic shot through Walt as the tightness and pressure from Jesse's hands began to crush his neck. He tried with as much strength as he could summon to pry Jesse's hands away from his neck in hopes of gaining a moment of breath, and gush of blood to his brain. He managed to lift one index finger off only for it to snap back into place with pressure doubled. There must be a strategy here, he thought as he scanned through his mind, there must be a move to unseat this checkmate. And then it came to him; it was rudimentary, but it would work. Walt curled his fist into a tight mass and wound it backward. Blinking up into Jesse's eyes, he could see years of rage pulsating down into the young man's arms and hands, veins bulging and sweat dripping. Jesse's eyes were bugging out of his skull, and his teeth were grit so hard a punch to the face would surely knock a couple loose but, Walt wasn't aiming for his face. He wound his arm back a stretch further, and then pummeled Jesse heftily in the balls. It was a direct hit, and Jesse cried out in swears while his hands dropped from Walt's neck to instinctively grasp his crotch. While gasping to regain his breath, Walt toppled Jesse onto his back, and monitored him for signs of a second attack. When no signs showed, Walt began to speak through strained breaths. "It was foolish of me not to see this coming." He hadn't given much thought to the strength Jesse must have garnered during captivity. The young man had killed three men with his bare hands before they left Welker's compound, and Walt now realized this was a fact he was glossing over out of convenience. Jesse was now a foot and half from him on the bed, cradling his balls in a near fetal position. He grunted, then rolled to his side with a vicious look across his face.

"I'm in no condition to fight you off, Jesse, if this is what you want." Walt huffed a few times, and stifled a cough. A grave silence followed, and he could tell whatever rage had fueled him only moments ago was already morphing into anguish.

"I'm ready to go…more or less, however my survival instincts are still there, clearly, but…"

"But what?" Jesse was staring at him from the corner of his eyes now. "Your last act of kindness is gonna be letting me kill you? That's incredibly fucked up even by your standards." Still clutching his balls, Jesse scooted himself off the bed to stand.

"No, that's not quite…in any event, you just tried to strangle me to death." A sense of the absurd had crept in a long time ago, but Walt could still step back mentally to survey just how wayward things had become. Recognition of what had transpired between them, and around them, was avoided to let each day pass in peace. The loss and the betrayal, and the effects of Jesse's trauma from captivity, were specters now looming over them. As Jesse moved to leave the room, Walt implored. "Jesse, you can't walk away from this like you have everything else."

Just as he passed through the door frame, Jesse turned with a scowl toward Walt. "Every time you tricked me into talking to you like this, _about_ _something_ , you've thrown it back in my face. You've made me feel more worthless than my parents ever did. You did it before we ended up here, and it turned into the apocalypse."

Walt couldn't see Jesse's face in focus without his glasses, but he could hear the errant sniffles and breaks in his voice. "Son, I don't have all the answers –"

"You don't get to use that word anymore."

Walt managed to balance his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He surveyed Jesse's face looking for a tell that his words were only venom. He couldn't find one. "Jesse…if you kill me, you might not survive the guilt. Violence is not going to fix what is broken inside of you."

A most mocking smile distorted Jesse's face. He laughed with menace at Walt, and then started twisting the brass knob of the door back and forth. Nodding a few times, he said, "You wanna bet?"

The door slammed shut, and the walls vibrated. Feebly, Walt called his name out once before losing himself to another fit of coughing.

Jesse stood peering up into the sky from the deck, cigarette lit and burning away in his hand. He pulled on it mightily, and enjoyed letting the exhaust trail out at will. The night sky was so dark in Hungry Horse owing to the complete lack of city lights, and so the midnight blue of the sky was pierced that much further by the silvery glints of stars. For a moment he thought he was looking at the Big Dipper, until his eyes happened upon a much bigger dipper. He noted it was the first time outside of the desert he saw both the dippers at once. A pang hit the walls of his heart; one more hit to that damaged vessel. He was going to miss the desert profoundly, and this he knew for certain despite the excitement of living out a long-standing fantasy of northern woodlands life, even if in Montana instead of his dream state of Alaska. He would never ride a BMX in the sand again, nor would he feel the heat of a blistering Albuquerque afternoon. The thought of winter lodged in his head, and he nearly shivered. The desert heat is all but lost at night, but this place here, he thought, looked like it needed snowshoes when the white hits. He finished his cigarette and chucked it from the deck, half-heartedly wondering if it would be the one that burns the house down. He looked back up to the night sky as he heard the deck's glass door slide open. He didn't turn around.

"Jesse," Walt's voice was quiet, and full of resignation. Still, he refused to turn around.

"We don't have to talk, just come inside. That bear could be lurking around."

Jesse whipped around finally. "Didn't you get the message back in there? You're off the hook."

"Fine, Jesse. Have it your way. Goodnight." The door slid shut, and within a moment there was the unmistakable click of a lock. Jesse went to the door and tried it immediately as Walt stood on the other side of the glass pane, smiling eerily in the moonlight. He was locked out, and the bear tearing open his chest with only its teeth was now the only thing in his mind. Stricken with panic, both hands went to his head and he started surveying the entire deck. He knew he would be defenseless; no furniture tower could save him against that thing. And then, Walt unlocked the door and slid it open.

"That was too easy – get your ass inside."

Jesse stepped inside, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Get some sleep," Walt said.

The next morning, Jesse woke from his belated slumber on the couch to the aroma of bacon. The smell was warm and comforting. As a kid, his mother would often cook breakfast on Saturdays, but that was before junior high, and before she started looking at him with a searching in her eyes. When he was in high school, and routinely slept until four on any non-school day, it would unnerve him how she'd corner him in the hallway when he dared to emerge from his room, with eyes steeled on him, peering down into his soul to appraise it. He had the smallest morsel of comfort knowing she would never look into his eyes again to see for herself how blackened and misshapen it was now. As he sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes until they focused, he spied a nearly nude Walt in the kitchen.

"Ah, he's awake," Walt announced. He could only see a long green apron covering the man.

"As if you are cooking bacon naked."

Walt grinned, "I'm not, I've got boxers on."

Jesse sighed, and ruffled his hair as he approached the kitchen in search of coffee. Out of instinct he sat at the kitchen table, and then questioned what the Hell he was doing. Every moment of normality was now attended by skepticism, and he wondered if this would be the flavour of his life until its very end. Humming some banal tune, Walt brought him a cup of black coffee, and then within a few minutes a plate piled with bacon and eggs. He devoured nearly all of it before Walt sat opposite him with a plate of his own. As Jesse finished his last bite, he grabbed his coffee and gulped a bit of it down, eyes lingering on Walt. It seemed he was content pouring over some old newspaper as he ate at a gentleman's pace. Jesse nearly shook his head before he noticed the red welts covering Walt's neck: there was the evidence of last night's madness staring him in the face. He knew that every piece of him had craved the man's death as he strangled him, but he also knew the feelings evaporated as soon as he took a direct hit to his nuts.

Walt looked up from his paper. "What, Jesse? You're staring."

"Uhhhh," he stumbled for a minute contemplating his options. "I really went for it last night I guess." He sipped the coffee now, holding onto it with both hands as an anchor.

"You nearly succeeded at that." Walt set the paper down. "Did you…get confused?"

Jesse's heart pounded at the question. It was so much easier to pretend it didn't happen the way it really happened. The thought of leaving Walt today, taking the van and not turning back, seemed like an appealing escape, but something weighed on him. It was pressing him to dare to speak. "I saw him, I mean, it was like I was strangling him once I started."

"That's who you needed to stay dead?"

"Yeah," Jesse returned.

"Say his name."

Jesse hesitated as though its use would invoke the man's presence.

"You've seen Kenny instead of me a few times now."

Jesse's jaw was sitting atop the coffee mug. "I guess I really have post-traumatic whatever."

"Your amygdala, it's vastly overstimulated from what has happened. Catastrophic trauma changes the brain, and it can take time for your brain's chemistry to recover."

"I don't know, this shit's probably permanent."

"I assure you it doesn't have to be." Walt sat up in his chair, clearing his throat. "Do you accept now that he hurt you – that it was impossible for you to be a willing participant in…what happened?"

Jesse was quiet as Walt's words floated by him. His thoughts were running in a different direction. "In my mind, you two are tied together."

Walt's coffee mug smacked against the wood table, but didn't break. "Oh?"

"He made me do things, made me want to do things. And so did you." Jesse spoke with a rare deliberateness. The tiniest, most pathetic cough hopped out of Walt's mouth.

"How could I know what they would do to you?"

"The part where they're Nazis should have been a tip off that they were capable of like, the worst cruelty known to the universe."

Walt swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"I don't wanna be this person." Jesse stood from the table, trying to stem the flood of anguish that was rushing into his heart. That pang from earlier was goading him on to speak the words he was terrified of saying aloud, and within seconds he felt them slipping out. "How do I stop missing someone I hate?"

"What could you possibly miss?"

The incredulity in Walt's face stung Jesse, but he carried on baring his scars. "Is it normal to miss sex with your rapist? That's what I'm supposed to think of him as according to you."

Walt said nothing, and silence filled the kitchen. Jesse nodded for a moment, but as the magnitude of his own words hit him, his face dropped, his breath quickened, and he could feel himself becoming faint. "I didn't mean any of that, I don't know why I just said it all."

"Jesse." Walt said softly, rubbing his forehead. "I'm disturbed you're equating me with this person."

Trying to race out of the room, Jesse grabbed his cigarettes from the counter and started tapping the pack. "I'm not sure who's worse, him or you."

Walt stared as Jesse whipped out onto the deck without looking back.

Over the next three days, Walt continued to rebound in health, and busied himself with cooking the full gamut of breakfast, lunch and dinner. After preparing each meal, he would set a plate on the table for Jesse, who would then sit, shovel the food into his mouth, and take leave in under ten minutes. They spent little time together other than this, an afternoon hour of Matlock, and the time it took Walt to recite his grocery demands. On this particular day, after clearing the mess from the day's lunch, Walt sat by the bay window reading a year-old Economist. Jesse was on the deck smoking and staring out into the lake, which had become his default position in the house. Intermittently, Walt glanced to Jesse, silently disapproving of the young man's self-torture through seclusion. Walt kept his distance, but he couldn't pretend he hadn't noticed Jesse was sleeping less, and his appetite for self-care hadn't returned to its pre-confinement level. After his fifth cigarette, Jesse came back inside, and Walt couldn't resist an urge to pipe up. "Jesse," he started.

Jesse stopped, and glanced at him for a split second. He rubbed his eyes and said, "What is it?"

"Everything okay?"

Jesse bumped his fist against the back of the couch with little thought. "Just dandy."

As he made to leave the room, Walt tutted, and couldn't stop himself. "Would you like to take a shower?"

Jesse shot a mean look in Walt's direction. "How's that your business?" He shook his head.

"It's been… a while." Walt plastered on a goofy smile.

A guilty recognition crossed Jesse, and he nodded. "Later."

Before he could get out of the room, Walt added, "There's not as many mirrors in the bathroom downstairs…"

Jesse's eyes went round as he met Walt's gaze, and he nodded again before shuffling out the room. Walt heard Jesse's footsteps jogging down the staircase in minutes, and he smiled to himself. The upstairs bathroom was spacious and beautifully tiled in white, but it prided itself with three-paned mirrors at either end. The last time Jesse had used it, now days ago, it had taken him an hour to complete the task, and he had emerged from the ordeal red-rimmed and quiet, like a solider returning from a tour.

Walt continued to read about derivatives and sub-prime mortgages as a half hour passed. With feet pounding the stairs, Jesse returned with wet hair spiked in every direction. He scrubbed it with a towel, which he threw over one of the arm chairs populating the living room. Walt immediately scolded him, and motioned for it to go outside on the deck, if anywhere other than the laundry hamper. He watched as Jesse hung the towel over the deck's wooden railing, fussing to keep it straight in the breeze. Once looking content, Jesse took out a cigarette and swiftly lit it. Walt, puffed up from an apparent victory, slid the glass door wide and leaned into the frame. "The air is so fresh up here, isn't it?"

Jesse smirked, then flashed him his cigarette before taking a long drag.

"I was thinking chicken roasted with that barbecue sauce for dinner."

"Yeah, we only have chicken so, good thinking." Jesse raised an eyebrow, then turned away again. Suddenly, the sound of someone mounting the wooden staircase leading to the deck startled them. The visitor walked incredibly slow, and the wooden boards were creaking with every step. It almost sounded as if two people were stalking up the steps together. Panic shot across Walt's face.

"Who is that?" He whisper-screamed.

"I can't see," Jesse returned.

"Get in here!" he demanded, but before Jesse could move, a deep, heavy growl bellowed from the staircase. Jesse's face lost every ounce of blood as he swore and stuffed the cuff of his shirt into his mouth.

"Jesse, get in here now," Walt was ordering, but he could see Jesse was frozen in fear. Within a moment, the grizzly bear had its front paws perched on the deck. Its nose was sniffing the air curiously.

"My legs won't move."

"You need to stay perfectly still now, like a statue." Walt ran through options in his mind. A loud noise, or some bear spray, might be all that was needed. He cautiously started to slide the glass door shut so the bear couldn't enter the house while he searched for items to solve their predicament. Jesse squirmed as the door was closed.

"What are you doing? Don't leave!"

Walt signaled for him to stay quiet as he scrambled back to the kitchen. He tore through the drawers looking for anything that might help.

Two monstrous paws with black spikes for claws stepped toward Jesse. The bear now had all four paws on the deck, and stood for a moment sniffing around him as though something delicious was wafting through the air. Its fur was mangy and frazzled, and it had likely been wandering for days in search of a good meal. Jesse stood as still as possible, but his gaze was caught in the bear's. Their eyes stayed locked, and as the bear growled again, he squeezed his eyes shut in the most impotent line of defense. As one eye dared open, he caught the bear taking to its hind legs in a terrifying pose. "Shit, I'm gonna die," he whimpered, "and it's gonna fucking hurt."

Just as he braced to be slashed by the bear, the glass door tore open. A frantic Walt waved a wooden spoon in one hand, and clutched a tiny spray bottle in the other. "Look at me, you big lug," Walt shouted, clamouring the spoon against the glass. "We've had enough trouble for one lifetime, get the Hell out of here."

He shook the tiny can of capsaicin spray, and then let it rip. He waved it around and sprayed for ten seconds forming a solid cloud in the bear, and Jesse's, direction. The thick yellow cloud covered them both, and the bear grunted, and then shot off down the stairwell. As Walt sighed in relief, he noticed Jesse still standing motionless save for hands covering his eyes to protect from the spray. Walt grasped his arms, but he didn't budge.

"Is it gone?"

"Yes, yes, come on –."

Jesse took the towel back from the railing and pushed it to his eyes as Walt guided him back inside. Walt locked the glass door, and closed the curtains to the bay window. Jesse was already collapsed on the couch with his head buried in the towel when Walt turned around, but this didn't stop him from spurring on a conversation. "You know, I wonder if this cabin was empty for quite some time, and that bear has made itself a regular visitor. I didn't think grizzly bears usually came this close to houses."

Jesse grunted in response. Walt was compelled to bring him a glass of water. Reluctantly, Jesse took the water and drank it, perched on his elbow. He looked back at Walt, who was staring at him with a faint smile. "Getting eaten by a bear is like, the perfect ending to the shitty life I've led," Jesse bemoaned.

Walt tutted, "You're not going to be eaten by a bear." Jesse's eyes darted to his. "I don't think you will." Walt tried to sound as certain as possible as he fought a smirk.

"That deck was the only thing keeping me from cabin fever," Jesse said. He let out the most frustrated groan as he dabbed his eyes with water from the glass. "Why did I think being up North would be this fantastic adventure? We should have got another RV, and gone to a different desert. At least there'd be some snakes or something, or a tarantula. I can deal with that size of animal. Small, you know. You can stamp on 'em if they piss you off."

Walt shook his head, knowing he had no conceivable response to his companion's musings. Spending his last few months in another RV with Jesse would have been a punishment fit for the Divine Comedy. "Coffee?" Walt offered, trying to move on quickly.

"Uh, sure."

A few minutes later, Walt brought him a mug that curiously said, 'Save the Rangers,' and Jesse stared at the liquid in it for too long before sipping. Walt could tell there was something else he was itching to say, but working up the courage to broach. Finally, Jesse spoke.

"What did you say when you called Jack to get me killed?"

"I don't recall exactly," Walt said, his throat tight and unyielding.

"It was that insignificant?"

"No, no," Walt began shaking his head. There had to be a way to leave Skyler's presence out of this conversation. He lowered his voice for gravity, and said, "It was a difficult call to make, Jesse, but you left me little choice. We've talked about this, must we beat a dead horse?"

"If I have to be here with you, you know, till the _end_ , you're going to have to talk about things."

Walt rolled his eyes, but nodded to concede. "I made the best choices I could at the time."

Jesse gulped his coffee like it was water, then set the empty mug on a magazine covering the oak coffee table. Squaring his eyes back on Walt, he said, "How could you poison a kid? How could you just be normal after making him so sick?"

Walt sighed. Skillful deflection was a small price to pay for end of life care. "I thought I was losing you, and I needed you. Heck, I _was_ losing you."

"That was completely your own fault."

"Maybe so…" Walt trailed off.

"I don't wanna keep saying the same shit over, and over, again, but you coulda listened when I was asking you for advice. Like, not gone ballistic because I fibbed to you about seeing Gus."

"Mistakes were certainly made."

"And why did you think your old man ass would beat me in that stupid fight? So lame. I kicked your ass."

Walt laughed, and the warmth left Jesse's face. "The lies just make me hate you. When I think about Brock lying in that hospital bed, I could claw your eyes out."

The room seemed to drop two degrees, and Walt straightened his back through a visible chill. Jesse merely rose, and made to leave the room.

"I cried," Walt stated. Jesse turned back, face scrunched in puzzlement.

"What?"

"The day after our almighty fight, I was a wreck. It was my son's sixteenth birthday, and I missed it completely. He ended up at my house taking care of me."

Jesse swallowed hard, then just shook his head. He descended the stairs, and Walt heard the bathroom door slam shut eventually. He sat, eyes forward, uneasy in the silence.

It was the middle of the night, and Jesse's room was enveloped in darkness. Only a scant moon beam hit the corner of the window pane casting the dimmest of light. He lay in bed, on his stomach, hugging a pillow. His mind had wandered to that tipping point between unbridled thoughts and the depths of dreaming, and he was lost to a memory.

"Hey now, you're holding on tight, what's got you?" Kenny stroked at his hair.

Jesse squeezed his eyes shut, and then open. He spoke in a breathy whisper into the man's chest. "Nothing."

"Don't gimme that, we're past that." He grabbed Jesse's jaw and forced him to look into his face. Kenny thumbed at the corner of Jesse's eyelid, wiping away an errant eyelash. And then, Jesse spoke, not breaking their gaze.

"I need the restroom."

"Alright," Kenny said quietly, wiping a couple beads of sweat from Jesse's forehead. As Jesse lifted himself from the bed, Kenny's hand grazed his backside. Upon his return, he grabbed his hand to pull him right back into his chest, "Get yer head right down."

The beat of Kenny's heart pulsed into Jesse's ear. The syncopation of those lub-dubs lapped at him, like waves pulling him out to sea, as they did on so many nights. The revulsion and the resentment, he left them behind. Now in the swirling depths of this murky ocean, he embraced the protection granted to him, despite its inconsistencies, and its toll. He embraced the sedation that any comfort brought to him and, at long last, he embraced the distraction of desire, and the constancy of physical intimacy. Jesse lifted his head and brought his lips to Kenny's.

With a start, Jesse awoke from his dream. He was panting, and with tears pooling he lifted his chest from the mattress. He swore, and threw the pillow across the room. It crashed into a floor lamp near the opposite wall, which broke its bulb as it hit the ground. A minute passed, and he jumped when the door to this night's bedroom popped open.

"Shit, Jesus, don't…do that," Jesse panted.

"I heard something break," Walt said.

"Yeah,"

"Are you…can I come in?" Walt asked, but stepped into the room without yielding to an answer. Jesse backed himself against the headboard, bringing his knees to his chest. Walt pulled a lamp's chain, and the yellow light from the bulb revealed Jesse's red, wet eyes. He sat himself on the opposite edge of the bed, and just the sensation of the weight on the bed made Jesse's skin crawl.

"Nightmare?"

"Something like that, just more confusing." Jesse rubbed his palm to his nose before grasping a tall glass of water from the nightstand.

"Don't punish yourself for what you're feeling. There's no rules for this sort of thing. It's not…black or white."

"What are you saying?"

"Well, I…" Jesse could see Walt was beginning to stumble away from his initial message, but he wasn't about to rescue him. He liked watching him fight to say something useful.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is that you're allowed to be conflicted about someone who hurt you. Very few people, if really any at all, are completely evil, if you believe in the concept of evil that is. The vilest people are capable of kindnesses. People often bring up how Hitler had a dog that he cared for greatly."

"What, was his dog like a German shepherd or something?"

"Yes, it was an Alsatian named Blondi."

Jesse's head retracted ever so slightly with brow knotting. "Whatever. So, in this metaphor, I'm Hitler's dog because I was kept by a bunch of Nazi's, and sometimes one of them was really nice to me?"

"It's not a metaphor, you're not Hitler's dog, I meant-."

"Sure felt like a dog," Jesse said, kicking the duvet bunched around his legs.

"I'm just saying, let yourself feel whatever it is you feel about what happened, or toward this person. If you don't let yourself feel these things, you will never be able to make peace with what happened."

Jesse groaned. "I thought we were stopping this surrogate father shit. I don't need daddy duty at three a.m."

"Jesse," Walt protested. His voice had that familiar pitch of frustration and disappointment.

"If we keep talking, I'm going to end up choking you out again." Jesse rubbed his eyes furiously. Walt stood, and Jesse could now see a seriousness piercing his surface.

"I don't deserve forgiveness from you. I would never ask for it, but I can't just turn off my instincts toward you."

"I wish you could."

"I'm not saying this makes sense, but this is the reality we are working with. Accept that we are stuck here together for now, and are the only people able to care for one another. Take what little comfort that can bring."

Jesse groaned again in frustration.

"It pains me to see you like this, it really does."

"That _pain_ , it's called guilt."

"Probably," Walt's throat caught as he finished the word. "If I say the wrong thing, poof, presto – you will snap, and strangle me to death, or worse. But, that's the end for me. Any way you look at it, my number is up, but yours isn't. _You_ have to live on past this, what we're doing here, and what ends up transpiring. If you can't cope with this, you will end up in jail, or you will be dead, your life cut far too short."

Jesse just stared at the opposite wall, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Accept everything that has happened. It's the only way forward."

"Accept everything? These scars covering me, and everyone who's fucking dead?"

"Yes, that's exactly it."

Eyes darting, Jesse looked at Walt. "Should I just accept that I'm into dudes now, too?"

Walt's eyes went askew. Jesse stared at the wall. He began running through the guilty circle of this admission in his head. Even though he understood Stockholm Syndrome, his feelings felt real.

"You were merely _surviving_." Walt put a hand out to Jesse's shoulder and squeezed it, eliciting a flinch. He stilled, but then squeezed again to no flinch. Jesse sniffed a messy sounding nose.

"What am I, now…then?"

"You're you," Walt said, rather plainly. Walt coughed awkwardly, and Jesse raised an eyebrow. "We live life in the gray area, and we do the best that we can."

Jesse sighed a long and heavy sigh that he stretched out into a frustrated groan. He cradled his head for a moment, contemplating Walt's words while hating himself for admitting what he was thinking. Eventually, his brain hopped a stubborn hurdle. "Say I decide I can live in this gray area, and get that maybe I don't have to feel disgusting over every moment with this person, right? That doesn't mean you're off the hook for all your sick shit you did to me." Jesse could see a certain low-level shock in Walt's face, and he could see the man inject his face with a smirk to cover it.

"I can live with that," Walt said.

Jesse stood in front of stacks of egg cartons wearing a dull green parka dusted with dirt. He had found it in a basement closet at the house, and dared to wear it as a disguise into town. Hungry Horse was a true one horse town, with one main drag to its name, and a smattering of small shops. He was at the town's answer to a grocery store, staring at the few egg cartons left on the shelf. The exorbitant prices never failed to shock him in this remote town, and the six-dollar dozen irked him every time. He put them in the basket beside two pints of milk, bread, chicken soup mix, and a bag of Funyons he knew would bring Walt ire. He stepped to the counter and placed his basket down for unloading. A heavyset woman with short, wavy brown hair and a penchant for plaid started scanning items from his basket.

"Well howdy, I seen you around here once or twice."

Jesse nearly groaned in disappointment, but smiled pleasantly instead. "Yeah, I'm a repeat customer…" He trailed off, unsure what to say since he had no desire to speak whatsoever.

"Well, great. Welcome to Hungry Horse. You livin' around these parts?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah…just a way's away."

"You like it here?"

"Yeah, it's great, just great."

She had nearly scanned everything, but the questions kept coming.

"You on your own out here?"

"Yeah, I mean no, no…my uh, grandfather is with me. He isn't too mobile most days, he has dementia." Jesse made a tragic face trying to feign some sort of empathy.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry to hear that." The woman's face turned to the till, and she hurried to settle his bill. Before she handed over his receipt, she flipped it over and started writing. "If you ever need a helping hand, just call. We're a tight knit community here, always ready to help." She smiled broadly, but with the sincerest warmth he'd seen in nearly a year. It was pure, and he knew she meant every word she spoke. He would wait until he was home to crumple the receipt and trash it.

Back at the house, Walt was perched on the couch with another year-old magazine, and Jesse wanted to scream seeing he hadn't moved an inch from the morning. He'd taken up the same spot on the couch every morning for the past five days, and the monotony of passing him to smoke, back and forth, all day, was drilling into his skull. This waiting game they were playing was slowly killing him. He put the groceries away, then cracked open a can of Coke.

"Hey, you want some Funyons?"

Looking up from his magazine, Walt raised his brows. "I thought we agreed to avoid overpriced junk food?"

"Yeah, but Funyons are the only fun I'm having these days."

"Alright, alright, save the bad jokes." Walt's eyes went straight back to his magazine.

Jesse sat down on the couch directly in front of the television, Walt eyeing him the entire time. "I need to watch some television, I'm dying."

"Do it downstairs," Walt ordered.

"That one doesn't work, there's no signal."

"Fine." Walt stood, and walked to the kitchen table.

"Jeez," Jesse said, flicking through the channels. In search of a movie, he found a local affiliate.

 _And on a final note, park rangers are urging any residents of the area to report bear sightings to the number at the bottom of the screen. They are still looking for what is believed to be a grizzly bear that was seen in the backyard of two local residents. We leave you now for national news. See you at ten._

"That bear is seriously into human meat," Jesse said. Walt merely grunted in response.

 _Welcome to the news at six. The coroner has released his findings in the death of troubled singer-songwriter, Amy Winehouse. We will have more on the President's withdrawal of troops from Afghanistan, and as well as more coverage of the on-going search for the American drug lord, Heisenberg._

"Drug lord? More like, ass hat." Jesse smirked, pleased with his insult.

Walt was now standing by the couch awaiting the news story. "This is probably just a consolidation report, you know, nothing really new to report, but meant to keep the profile of the story up."

"We'll see." Jesse upped the volume on the set.

 _The Federal Bureau of Investigation is now helping the Drug Enforcement Agency in its on-going search for America's most infamous drug king pin, Walter H. White. White was last seen in the Albuquerque area just over a month ago._

The news continued with images and interviews both men had seen numerous repeatedly. They watched the report like it was a movie shown on cable so many times they knew every scene, cut and word. Just as a familiar school portrait of Walt from his teaching days left he screen, something new appeared.

 _Today the DEA have released an image of a man believed to be a top ranking member of Heisenberg's cartel. He has not been seen in over a year, and was assumed murdered by Walter White, or one of his cartel members. However, we have learned today from the DEA that there is reason to believe he is very much alive, and that he may have played a role in the white supremacist murders that happened outside of Albuquerque just over a month ago._

Jesse's mug shot from his first arrest glared at the two men across the screen.

"Oh, fuck me."

 _His name is Jesse Pinkman. A native of Albuquerque raised in the upscale Country Club neighbourhood of town, it seems this former student of JP Wynne High School was taken under the wing of Heisenberg himself. The DEA have stated he was suspected of a link to Heisenberg before he was known to be Walter White. He is believed to have cooked meth for the cartel, and has possibly fled south to Mexico. Authorities have approximated what he may look like now. If you have any information about the whereabouts of Jesse Pinkman, or Walter H. White, you are asked to call Crime Stoppers at the number scrolling at the bottom of the screen._

A rough sketch of a grizzled version of Jesse appeared on the screen. "At least the sketch isn't too accurate," Walt stated.

"My mother is crying into her 600-thread-count napkin right now. Shit."

"Jesse, you went missing over a year ago, I'm sure she's cried her tears."

Jesse glared at Walt, biting his lip. He switched off the television, and stood scanning the room for his cigarettes before realizing they were in his pocket. He went to the glass door, slid it open, and lit a cigarette in the door frame. "If I could call her, which obviously I can't because hello, wiretap, she would just tell me how I've ruined her life, hang up on me, and then call the police herself because she hates me that much."

Walt stood with arms folded. "Jesse, you were cooking crystal meth in their house, even before all this…madness."

"Not their house, _my_ house." Jesse shook his head, and Walt shooed him outside onto the deck, following behind him.

"Listen, don't let it rattle you. We're fine, nothing's changed," Walt said.

"You need to show me where you're keeping the guns, and the drugs, and all your other illicit shit, whatever it is. You've hidden them well."

"Why on earth would I do that?"

"Because, if the heat is on us, and you're practically dead, I need to grab it all, and get us gone." He dragged his cigarette hard, before turning to look back at Walt.

"That's a fair point. Just…I'm a bit…"

Jesse watched as Walt struggled for delicate words. He interrupted him after a minute. "That's just a risk you'll have to take."


End file.
